The Ten Thousandth Hunger Games
by FoalyWinsForever
Summary: Just a typical set of Games; I happened to be feeling sarcastic when I named it. The Victor has been chosen. T for lots and lots of pretty legitimate swearing. And, you know, bloody and agonizing deaths. But mostly the swearing.
1. Not a Form

The Gamemakers yelped and jumped back as the speakers roared. Popcorn flew. One of the women screamed.

A cat. Just a silly cat onscreen.

They laughed in relief, good-naturedly shouldering the woman. She rolled her eyes, smiling ruefully and looking up again just in time to find herself face-to-face with the clown on the screen. She screamed again. This time, she wasn't alone.

The only person in the dark, cozy room who wasn't paying attention was Deyna Balthazar. He huffed irritably, drawing back into the navy blue couch's fluffy cushions and trying to remember whose idea this had been. Whoever it was, they would be fired. Honestly. Gamemakers watching horror movies? Who ever heard of such a thing? What if the President was to walk in right now and see them sprawled all over the room, like children, blue-lit faces staring wide-eyed at the screen? Total disaster. They would never be taken seriously again.

The woman next to him hiccupped and raised an empty champagne glass. Deyna rolled his eyes. He had never even bothered to learn her name, but he knew she was a shameless drunk.

An Avox stepped from the corner of the room where she had been lurking, unnoticed. The Gamemakers screamed. Deyna gritted his teeth. The Avox kept her head and eyes down as she advanced with the bottle of alcohol, but even in the dim light, Deyna was sure he saw her biting back a smirk. The clown gnashed its teeth behind her.

It was a good thing, the Head Gamemaker mused, that the woman couldn't talk. It wouldn't do for anyone to learn what she had witnessed. Not that this generation of Gamemakers had done a good job of preserving the traditional mystique of their position, but still. Deyna had intended to fix that when he was promoted. He failed. He was only twenty-three, and they simply didn't take him seriously.

An earsplitting shriek from the speakers made him wince and clap a hand to his temple. Still, he leaned around the Avox to see what was going on, more out of morbid curiosity than anything. The woman's eyes widened when she realized exactly whose view she was blocking. She threw herself to the ground and poured the champagne from there.

Deyna nodded approvingly. Much better. Good problem-solving skills, too, he mused. Perhaps he would take this woman as his personal Avox.

He raised an eyebrow at another scream from the movie. A teenage girl was cornered, cowering against what looked like an old wooden wall. The camera zoomed out, revealing an old-fashioned carnival game booth, all stuffed animals and cotton candy and blue-striped awnings.

The clown lumbered into the frame. The girl shrieked. It was taller than an average human being, and it moved unnaturally. Its red-painted mouth split into a grin. Even Deyna's eyes widened for a split second. The clown's teeth were like a shark, sharp and bloody. The Head Gamemaker tilted his head. Bloody? Why were they bloody? Had the clown already killed someone? Deyna felt a bit miffed that he had missed it. Perhaps he would start paying attention after all.

The clown lunged. Blood flew. The girl screamed. The Gamemakers groaned at an awful ripping, grinding sound.

Deyna raised his eyebrows, shaking his head slowly. This was a good movie. It took a lot to get a reaction like that out of Gamemakers. They did kill children for a living, after all. Still, this was something special.

If only he could see something like that in real life, Deyna thought. Carnivorous clowns. Wolves, maybe. Spiders and shadows and darkness, ghosts and murderous living dead…

If only.

He smiled.


	2. Not a Tribute List

Tibbi Duster laced her fingers under her chin thoughtfully. At least she hoped it looked thoughtful. She was supposed to be brainstorming ideas for the arena, after all. Arena? Bo-ring. Who wanted to think about some stupid old arena? There were arenas every year. But there was only one Deyna Balthazar.

She dropped her gaze hurriedly when he glanced in her direction, picking up a pencil and doing her best to look pensive. As soon as he turned away, she whipped a mirror from a drawer in her desk and adjusted her hair. It was pretty hair. Somewhere between silver and gold, and it fell most of the way down her back. Like sunshine, she always told herself. It matched her perfectly. Bright and cheerful. Sunshine couldn't hurt you.

Could it, though? She frowned. Hadn't she heard something about that once? Too much sun did… something. Something really bad. But they'd fixed that. No, sunshine would never hurt you.

"Tibbi!"

She jumped at a raspy voice in her ear, almost falling over backwards when she realized it was Deyna. Deyna was just… just… Deyna. He was pale white, with burgundy hair and crimson eyes, although he had been talking about changing them to grey. She couldn't decide which she preferred. The man had impeccable taste.

"Y-yes?" she squeaked, smiling tentatively.

He glared. "Arena. We have a _week_, Tibbi. I need you on this."

"Right. Arena. Yeah," she said, rubbing the back of her neck guiltily. "I was thinking, um… carnival?"

Deyna huffed. "Yes, yes, we've already decided that. Anything else?"

She bit her lip. "Graveyard?"

"Already on the table."

"Then how about… um, how about…" Tibbi trailed off, desperately remembering the horror movies the Gamemakers had watched together. "Um… Something underground. You get trapped down there, and you can kind of see, but not well. And there are… things. That come after you. They're fast, but they're not much bigger than the tributes. So you could fight one off, I guess, but it would be hard, and you'd get hurt, probably."

Deyna's expression didn't change. "Anything else?"

"I… some kind of a pit? And maybe it looks bottomless, but it isn't. And it's completely quiet. But then maybe something comes out of it? Or the tributes could fall in, I guess… dunno what's down there though…" Tibbi scratched her head. "But it's definitely pitch dark. And maybe there could be some more things in the woods– There are woods, right? Yeah, things in the woods. They're big, like big wolves, but they only move when you're not looking at them. But they're fast, and they blend in."

"Is that all?"

Tibbi shrank in her chair. "Um… when there aren't many tributes left, there could be a storm. But a weird one, you know? Howling wind and all that? Like where you go outside and everything has that weird glow to it, and you always feel like there's something behind you? But it's a pretty normal storm at first. But then the clouds sort of get lower. And they're moving. I mean, duh, they're moving, they're storm clouds, but there's something moving _in_ them, like something black sort of flapping around? And they get lower and lower until the tributes have to lie on the ground, and then the clouds cover them." She paused, wondering where she was going with this. "And then… then…"

One of Deyna's eyebrows rose. "Then?"

Tibbi pursed her lips. "Then it's dark. And it doesn't get light again. Not until they're all dead."

The Head Gamemaker nodded slowly. "The whole arena?"

"Maybe not quite. Maybe there's a little light. At the Cornucopia or something. Not much, though. And if you stand in it everyone can see you." Tibbi shut her mouth, wincing mentally and expecting to get told off, like she always did. That's an awful idea, Tibbi; do you even think before you open your mouth, Tibbi?

Deyna nodded again. "Tibbs, you're absolutely diabolical."

That time she really did fall over backwards.


	3. Also Not a Tribute List

"It's the mooost wonderful tiiiime of the yeeeeeeear…"

President Fife cocked his head, wondering where he remembered the little ditty from. History of music. Right. That fluff class he'd taken while pursuing his degree in politics.

"There'll be merciless beatings and hearts will be bleeding as they scream in feeear…"

He smiled happily and adjusted his long, thin purple tie, checking his appearance in one of the many mirrors lining his manor's hallways. His hair, a paler shade of purple, stuck up wildly. But it was supposed to do that. It was modeled after than scientist from a long, long time ago. What was his name? Frankenstein? Egbert Frankenstein, was that it?

"What about Frankenstein?"

Fife looked up to see Head Gamemaker Balthazar staring at him, that wily devil with the red eyes. Balthazar had always intimidated him, although he'd never admit it. He was a strange man. Gamemakers were usually either too disconnected from the world to feel remorse or too ruthless and sadistic to care. Balthazar was ruthless, Fife supposed, but sadistic? If he was, he was remarkably subtle about it. The man just did his job, and he did it quietly and well. That shouldn't have been unnerving. But it was.

"Just trying to remember that scientist," Fife said, his voice echoing down the corridor a bit more loudly than he'd intended. "The one who built the first nuclear bombs. Egbert Frankenstein, if I'm not mistaken." He nodded wisely, his heart sinking when one of Balthazar's eyebrows rose the slightest bit.

"Einstein," the man corrected quietly. "He didn't build the bombs. His theories allowed them to be built. He tried to stop them."

"Right," Fife agreed hurriedly. "Einstein. Of course."

Deyna Balthazar wasn't listening. He never listened to Fife. "He predicted the Dark Days, in a way," the Gamemaker remarked. "_'__I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones_.' That's what the man said. I think he actually knew all too well how World War III would be fought."

"One for two, eh? Not bad," the President attempted. He wilted as Balthazar's eyebrow rose again.

"Do you think? Were the Second Dark Days really World War IV?"

The President considered it. "Well… er… yes?"

Deyna nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps. What about the Games, though? Sticks and stones, perhaps not literally, but certainly swords and arrows. The vast majority of the civilized world set against each other. How does one define a world war, sir?"

_Sir. _Fife puffed out his chest at the word. He was a _sir,_ wasn't he? Yes, perhaps his father had fixed the elections to pass the authority on to his son, as his father had done for him, and so on and so forth up an impressive number of generations of Fifes, and Lassers before that, he supposed. What of it? He was still President, wasn't he?

And he was half-tempted to use that authority to order Balthazar to blink, because the blasted fiend hadn't done so in an unsettling amount of time.

"Have you chosen the tributes yet?" Fife asked, finding that he had no intelligent response to the Gamemaker's question.

Balthazar narrowed his eyes. "A few. My Gamemakers are still combing some of the lower Districts. The Careers can take care of themselves."

"Indeed," Fife put in, instantly regretting his attempt at wit when he remembered how it had gone last time. To his amazement, the corner of Balthazar's mouth lifted slightly.

"Very true, sir," he agreed. "I suppose they can. Although I do find it useful to select a tribute to be reaped. The volunteer system is not foolproof."

Fife nodded. "Any favorites to win?"

The Gamemaker turned to him slowly, the hint of a smile playing across his lips again. "Favorites? Oh, certainly. I've seen most of the intended volunteers. The Four boy is strong. The Two girl is fierce. Both definite competitors."

Fife barely fought back a petulant scowl, aware that Balthazar had sidestepped his question. "Any, er, _personal_ favorites?" He held his breath as the other man tilted his head thoughtfully. These would be his first Games as President of Panem, and Fife was very much looking forward to being told the Victor in advance.

"I find the Five girl endearing. The Eight girl has spirit," he mused. "The Seven boy is probably the strongest non-Career, but the Six boy is quite ferocious in his own right."

That time Fife did scowl. "So you don't know who will win?"

Balthazar didn't even try to conceal his amusement. "Of course not," he said. "How could I know that?"

"Well, didn't Einstein predict two world wars?"

"Certainly," the Gamemaker shrugged. "But I like to think I could have done the same. Nuclear bombs are one thing. Teenagers are another thing entirely."


	4. Possibly a Tribute List

"Sir?"

Deyna looked up from his desk to see Tibbi Duster staring at him, silver eyes wide. She clutched a sheaf of papers in her hands.

"Is that the tribute list?" he asked, suddenly interested. "Any unforeseen volunteers?"

"Just one," she said breathlessly. "Eight boy."

Deyna frowned. "Eight boy. You have information on him, I presume?"

"Y-yes sir. Cleo got it."

He nodded and held out his hand wordlessly. Tibbi thrust the papers at him, almost dropping them. She winced and scurried away from his desk.

Deyna blinked, slightly bemused by how skittish his fellow Gamemaker was acting, but was distracted by the papers in his hand almost instantly. He flipped to the tribute list first even though he already knew twenty-one of the names.

_District One: Sol Ignis, 16, and Luster Astriage, 14_

Deyna frowned. Since District One used the first-come-first-serve volunteering system, it was impossible to know who their tributes would be before the Reaping. He had made a policy of choosing strong tributes to be reaped anyway, for just in case some fluke prevented anyone from volunteering. But neither of the names he had chosen were here. Both Careers then, at least, although they were a bit younger than he had hoped.

_District Two: Talon Creed, 17, and Lithe Charm, 18_

_District Three: Chord Tykee, 15, and Annie Cathe, 17_

_District Four: Mika Jensoll, 18, and Venesse Elvane, 15_

Deyna huffed. He had chosen Venesse because the only fully-trained female Career that year was her neighbor, a sixteen-year-old girl named Kiori. However, he had heard rumors that she was starting to second-guess volunteering that year. Deyna had hoped to "encourage" her by reaping her neighbor. No such luck, apparently. No luck at all for Venesse.

_District Five: Forest Hale, 17, and Miriam Mefluia, 13_

_District Six: Alexis Ismene, 15, and Cordelia Winters, 16_

_District Seven: Keadon Archer, 16, and Everlay Martire, 16_

_District Eight: Suede Poriskova, 15, and Namitha Lakshmi, 16_

Suede, huh. Deyna flipped through a few more papers in search of the information Tibbi had promised was there. Suede was revealed to be a lanky, moppy-haired kid with a fairly average upbringing. No Career training, no major mental issues, no relation to the tribute Deyna had chosen… odd. Still, if he had to pick a tribute to be replaced, it was the Eight boy. He had been chosen to serve as a quick Bloodbath death that wouldn't be missed, allowing the audience their opening dose of blood without costing the Games a personality. Who knew? Maybe this boy would turn out to be worth something. Deyna shrugged mentally and flipped back to the first page.

_District Nine: Jaeger Cline, 16, and Ophelia Dyste, 16_

_District Ten: Whitfield Vachel, 14, and Ariadne Farest, 17_

_District Eleven: Lupe Pelletier, 12, and Rosaline Hargrove, 15_

Those tributes had actually been requested by the mayor, Deyna remembered with a bit of bemusement. He hadn't been particularly inclined to grant the request, but decided to do so after a bit of research. The girl was the mayor's daughter, which was sure to add a bit of drama, and the boy was remarkably spirited, along with being a talented thief. Although, Deyna remembered dryly, the mayor had warned him that Lupe "wouldn't be so spunky" by the time he was reaped. Deyna hadn't taken him all that seriously.

_District Twelve: Caston Marks, 13, and Anne Small, 14_

Deyna had always been a bit miffed with the Capitol government on that one. District Twelve was more than capable of producing perfectly strong tributes– girls used to feeding their entire families, boys from the mines– but since the Second Dark Days, the Gamemakers had been instructed not to choose strong tributes from Twelve. Deyna had always sidestepped the rule a bit by tracking down the cleverest ones he could. He had a bit of hope for his bets this year. Who knew?

Not Deyna, actually. He refused to rig the Games. He would help things along when they got a little slow, yes, or perhaps even quietly dispose of a tribute if it seemed necessary, but he wasn't one to manipulate the results. If ratings fell, so be it. He wasn't interested in ratings. Deyna Balthazar was genuinely curious about who would survive.


	5. Reapings 1 through 3

**District One Reapings- Luster Astriage, 14 years old**

"So I heard you're volunteering to help feed the poor," Donna snorts as she darts up next to me, spitting the last word.

I take a deep breath. "I want to bring wealth to District One," I say carefully.

"District One _has_ wealth. At least, everyone in One who _matters,_" the girl says primly, pointedly adjusting the gold dress that is an exact replica of my silver one.

Thankfully, my friend Luxury chooses that moment to step between us, casually shouldering Donna, who trips on her ridiculously high heels and falls on her face with a shriek.

"I thought you were going to go all Dusk on her," he laughs.

"Shut up!" I hiss. "Not here!"

"Aw, c'mon. Nobody's listening." He gestures to the crowded square. There's an almost festive atmosphere to it, excitement from the rich mixed with tangible relief from the poorer denizens of the District. They have me to thank for that, I suppose. "And they're going to find out soon enough, aren't they?" he continues with a wink.

I sigh. "It's not funny. I don't want to kill anyone."

"You won't be the one doing it. Dusk will."

The second mention of the name makes me wince. There's a gentle prodding from the back of my mind, like some entity wants to be addressed. It intensifies. Soon it feels like something is burning, and I start to panic. What if I lose control right here in the middle of the square? I'll need Dusk during the Games, but she can't come out _here!_

"Hey, whoa." Luxury catches my shoulders and steers me into a recess between two buildings. "Watch it, girlie. I could practically see the fangs sprouting there."

I blink. "Fangs?"

"Metaphorically. Come on, I think they're starting." He walks me as far as he can in the direction of the stage, but eventually he has to leave for the boys' section. Another one of my friends, Saph, nudges me and winks.

"We're not dating," I say.

"Suuuuure."

I've pretty much given up on convincing anyone, but it's the truth. Luxury and I really are just friends. Of course, having a boyfriend to return to might help me get sponsors, I realize. I make a mental note to ask Luxury if he's okay with playing the part when he comes to see me in the Justice Building.

"… And let's find ooo-o-out who our woooonderful female tribute will beeeee!" Our escort dips his hand into the Reaping Ball, and I tense. Half of the older girls do as well, and for a moment, I'm not so sure of myself. Do I really have to volunteer this year? A few more years of training couldn't hurt, could it? And do I really want to set Dusk on a bunch of defenseless kids?

"Isabelle Onyx!"

There's a chorus of "I volunteer!"'s from the Seventeens and Eighteens, followed by yelps and shrieks as they start fighting their way to the stage. I remember suddenly why I had to volunteer this year: I'm closer. The longer I wait, the less likely I am to get into the Games.

"Uh, I volunteer!" I cry out belatedly. The girls in my section snicker a bit, but they smile at me and move out of my way so that I can sprint up to the stage. I turn to see the older girls glaring at me, clearly fuming.

"And what's your name?" the escort fawns, shoving the microphone at me.

"Luster Astriage," I say, trying to sound less out of breath than I am.

"Wonderful! And now for the boys!"

Having witnesses the girls' performance previously, the boys don't hesitate. He hasn't even touched the Reaping Ball when the back half of the boys' section breaks out in a full-on brawl. I wince as Luxury, who had been lounging in the Fifteens, takes a hit to the face, then smile when he winks at me and clocks the guy right back.

There's a collective gasp of surprise from the crowd when a boy finally fights his way to the stage. Personally, I don't get why they're so shocked. The boy is on the short side, but muscular. His hair is bright orange and his eyes are bright green. He has three earrings in the ear I can see, and although he doesn't exactly look mean, his expression says he knows exactly what he's doing. All in all, he looks like trouble.

"Sol Ignis," he says when the escort shoves the microphone at him. He gives me an appraising look as we shake hands, and I return the gaze as evenly as I can. At least this boy isn't completely brutal, I suppose.

The escort gives a short closing speech, and we are ushered off to the Justice Building.

**District Two- Lithe Charm, 18 years old**

I purse my lips, glaring at the single strand of blonde hair that sticks straight out from my head. I will tolerate no lack of compliance, least of all from my hair. Della is calling me, but I ignore her, carefully combing my hair down and stepping into a pink dress so short it's guaranteed to give my father a heart attack.

"Lithe!" Della shrieks.

"Shut up!" I yell back.

"Whatever! It's your Reaping we're gonna be late for, not mine!"

"I said shut up!" Still, the threat gets me away from my mirror. I dart downstairs and slip into my heels. "Dammit, where's my boyfriend?" I yell at the world in general. I absolutely refuse to go to the Reaping without a piece of arm candy. Preferably more, actually.

There's a timid knock at the door, and I throw it open. My boyfriend, Vair, winces. I ignore it, looking over him to make sure his appearance is adequate. Blond hair perfectly spiked, expensive suit… he'll do.

"Fine. Good enough. Time to go," I growl, running out the door and dragging him behind me. I guess my family was planning on walking to the Reaping with me, but that's just too bad.

I glare at a few girls I hate as we run into the Square. When I'm the Victor, I can ruin them. Even Kellir, who broke my doll when we were two.

Bitch.

I don't know how far along the Reaping is, but I run onto the stage anyway. I realize a little late that I'm still clutching Vair's wrist.

"What are you doing? Get out of here!" I yell, shoving him in the direction of the steps. I turn to our escort, Mellany, who looks a little shell-shocked. "Ahem. 'Scuse me," I say sweetly. "I'm Lithe Charm. I volunteer."

"We, um," Mellany stutters, glancing at the mayor and mentors sharing the stage with her. All of them look like they're about to laugh. At Mellany, I assume. At least they'd better be. "Um… okay," the escort finally says meekly. I smile triumphantly and wave to the crowd. Everyone cheers like their life depends on it. And it does.

"So, um… for the boys, then?" Mellany squeaks, glancing at me as if for permission. I nod imperiously, then fix my stunning smile on the crowd again and wave. "Liano Thenne!"

"I volunteer!"

Talon Creed strides from the Seventeens. At least I assume this boy is Talon; I've heard he was our male volunteer this year, but I've never actually seen him in person. He's tall and muscular, with brown hair and green eyes. I smile. He'll do.

I glance out into the crowd until I find Vair. He gulps. I glare at him until I'm pretty sure he's got the message that we're not together anymore. Hell, I probably just broke up with him in an alternate universe or three.

The boy introduces himself as Talon Creed. I'm delighted to note that he doesn't look all that fierce. Good. He won't be too difficult to kill, hopefully.

Talon bites his lip when he shakes hands with me, almost like he's trying not to laugh. I smile grimly and dig my fingernails into the back of his hand. I can tell that he winces even though he tries to hide it, and I give yet another sweet smile, gratified. He looks more exasperated than intimidated, but I don't mind. He'll learn.

**District Three- Annie Cathe, 17 years old**

"C'mon, Rachel, only two more," I say comfortingly. "It's not like I have any tesserae. It'll be fine."

"I know," Rachel says, trying to look like she's puzzled about why I'm trying to comfort her, but we both know she's scared. "Just don't get reaped, okay?"

"I'll keep that wise advice in mind," I reply, keeping a straight face.

Rachel smiles. "You'd better, kiddo."

I salute jokingly and jog off toward the Seventeens section. My friend Julia is already there.

"You haven't taken tesserae, have you?" I ask. Julia's family is pretty poor, and I'm always terrified about what she might have to resort to in order to help them get by. To my dismay, Julia stares at the ground.

"I… a few. Yeah. But that's still not many out of all of them," she shrugs. It's impossible to tell whether she's acting or not. Before I can say anything, a girl from our class turns toward us.

"Hey, guys," she says. I can tell she's nervous, too, but who wouldn't be? We don't really know her that well, but I don't blame her for wanting to talk to someone.

"Hey," I say. "I'd say 'how are you,' but… you know."

She laughs. "Yeah, you'd be right. I swear, being reaped has got to be the worst part of the Hunger Games."

"Probably, yeah," I agree. "Well, unless you died. That part would suck. But yeah, I'd be freaking terrified."

"And let's begin!" our escort calls. She's a tall, thin woman with her skin dyed a grim, ashy grey. Her hair, however, is an alarming shade of magenta, resulting in a combination of colors that makes me unsure of how to feel when I look at her. The funny thing is, her personality matches. Her voice is somber and low, but she always has a bright, cheery smile on her face.

She makes her way to the girls' Reaping Ball with a bowlegged stride that reminds me of a spider. Spiders. Ugh. I shiver, suddenly liking our escort even less.

"Annie Cathe!"

And now I just plain _hate_ her.

Despite my best efforts, I can feel tears pricking at my eyes. I fight them back with sheer willpower and make my way up to the stage. I can't believe this. I have less than a month to live. What if I have to kill someone? What if I make a friend and they get killed in front of me? I resolve there and then not to join any alliances.

"I volunteer!"

I glance into the crowd, surprised. My numb brain recognizes the voice a moment later. Rachel. At first I'm horrified, and I'm about to start screaming at her to be quiet, but as it turns out, I don't have to.

"Nineteen," comes a mutter from the back of the crowd. People start repeating it, until the front row is yelling it at the state. "Nineteen! She's nineteen!"

"Are you?" the escort says, squinting at Rachel, who is halfway up the steps. She stares at her feet, then nods dumbly. A Peacekeeper takes her arm and leads her gently down the stairs.

"Now for the boys," the woman says, her unenthusiastic voice paired with an even wider smile. She seems to feed off drama, like a spider feeds off blood. Spiders. Ugh.

"Chord Tykee!"

"_No!_" a man's voice cries as a muscular boy emerges from the Fifteens, his jaw set. "You can't take Chord! I need him, dammit!"

I'm touched by how much this man cares about his son. At least, until he keeps talking. "How the hell am I supposed to get any money without him? Huh? What, am_I _s'posed to be the muscle at the factory?" The man rants on and on. Chord doesn't look up as he trudges onto the stage, blond hair falling in his face. He towers over me, and is even more muscular than he appeared at a distance, so I'm thankful that he doesn't look particularly fierce. Just the opposite, in fact.

We shake hands silently. I don't listen as the escort prattles on about this and that. Finally, we're led off to the Justice Building.


	6. Reapings 4 through 6

**So, knowing my own attention span, it occurred to me that there's no way I'll make it through sixteen chapters of pregames. Instead, I think I'll finish the Reapings from the girls' POV, then split the boys up among the chariots, training, and interviews.**

**I love all of these characters, but the girls were a little similar, so I apologize if it reads a little clumsily. I had to emphasize different things to differentiate them a bit.**

**District Four- Venesse Elvane, 15**

"Who's volunteering this year?"

"Mika for the boys, don't know for the girls."

"Is he really? Didn't his brother get burned to death a few years ago?"

I shiver. Even though I've never really met him, Mika makes me nervous. His brother was even worse. Until he went into the Games, at least. I still have nightmares about his death.

The girls behind me keep talking. I stare determinedly at the ground, praying that they won't–

"Any clue who are female volunteer is, Venesse?"

"No," I squeak. The girl frowns at me for a moment, and I'm thankful when she shrugs and turns away.

"Venesse!"

I groan at the sound of my brother's voice calling me from across the crowded square. I want to ignore him, but he'll just keep yelling my name unless I see what he wants. I find Kane in the section directly across from me. He's grinning. Who the heck grins on Reaping Day? We're a Career District, I suppose, but the apparent lack of a female volunteer is making me nervous.

Once we make eye contact, my twin grins and mimes meditating. I scowl. I didn't look _that_ nervous. Did I? I probably did, didn't I?

Our escort, Jeani, bounds onto the stage. She fixes the crowd with a sharp-toothed grin, then tears the microphone from our mayor's grasp.

"Hel-looo District Fooour!" she yelps, sounding like the announcer of the Games themselves. Maybe she's trying to get promoted. "Are you ready to find out who this year's tributes will be?"

There's a polite smattering of applause. We usually have volunteers, so we don't have to be that scared. Usually.

Jeani sticks her hand into the girls' Reaping Ball, picking up and dropping pieces of paper until I'm pretty sure half the crowd is just about ready to murder her. Finally, she pulls a slip out, holding it above her head dramatically like it's a gift from a higher power.

"Venesse… Elvaaane!" she declares.

I blink. Maybe I should have applied for training after all. But it's not like I'm really going into the Games. I listen for the sound of someone volunteering, feeling my breathing speeding up as the silence wears on. Nonononono. How is this happening? This is District Four! Why does the year I'm reaped have to be the one year no one volunteers?

I want to cry, but I refuse to give the Capitol that satisfaction. I walk to the stage, keeping myself as composed as I can, even though I'm pretty sure I'm hyperventilating. There's another halfhearted round of applause that doesn't quite drown out the sound of my brother sobbing.

"Any volunteers?" Jeani yells, and I realize she's already called the male tribute.

"I volunteer," a deep, raspy voice calls. A scrawny-looking fourteen-year-old who must have been the original tribute lets out a breath. Lucky bastard.

"Mika Jensoll," the hulking boy says with a nasty grin. His dirty blond hair is cut short, and his brown eyes glitter. He's at least a foot taller than me, and the look he gives me when we shake hands is just plain mean. "You're no Career, are you?" he mutters. I shake my head silently. "We'll have to see what to do about that."

I have no idea what he means, but it's better than an open death threat, I suppose. At least I hope so.

**District Five- Miriam Mefluia, 13**

Two entries. Roughly one thousand, one hundred and sixty six point six repeating girls in my District, most of whom have far more entries than I do. I should be safe. I hope the girls in my class will be safe, too, especially Freya. Freya has one entry. She'll be worried, though, curling and uncurling her fingers into fists somewhere in the Twelve section.

I stride toward the Thirteens, smiling at people I know. Most of them smile back, although some look a little puzzled or uncomfortable. I'm used to it by now. I can't stop myself from overanalyzing people. I've tried to at least not say anything to put people off, but something always sneaks out of my mouth anyway.

One boy glares at me until I break eye contact. I huff and turn away. I know him, from a distance of course. Forest Hale. I also know all about his "relationship" with his "friend" Deli. Is romance so dead? How could someone lucky enough to have someone of the opposite gender actually _like_ them waste it on… erm… a decidedly physical relationship?

"Hey," comes Freya's quiet voice from behind me. I turn to see that she's made her way to the very edge of her section, where it meets mine. Sure enough, her fingers have just finished curling into fists.

"Hey," I reply with a small smile. Neither of us knows what to say after that, but the two of us are silent pretty often. We're okay with it by now.

I watch interestedly as our ancient mayor hands the microphone to our escort. We have a new one this year. I can tell by his body language that he's excited, but nervous. I want to tell him to take a deep breath.

"H-Hello, District Five!" he says with a weak smile. "I'm Bren!"

Silence.

"So I'm, um, going to draw a female tribute now!" Bren continues uncertainly. I sigh. I know I should hate him, but I just feel bad. He trips over his platform boots on the way to the Reaping Ball, and there's a smattering of mean laughter. It sounds like the type that's usually directed at me whenever my brother had friends over, even though he's two years younger than I am. But I learned eventually to hide in my room while Tod's friends were at my house.

"Miriam Mefluia!"

I gulp. Two entries. Two. That shouldn't have happened. What do I do? Think. Think. Strategy. No way to get out of the Games, someone would have found it by now. I have to survive them. How? Strategy. No one will buy a tough act. Weak, then. Forgettable. Typical. Can I do typical?

Not that it will help. I'm going to die. Will anyone care?

I stumble toward the stage, Freya's hand falling from my shoulder. She'll care, at least. I see Tod at the edge of the Square. He's too young. Suddenly, I'm terrified for him. What if he's reaped next year? But I won't be around to see it. He looks stunned.

I make it to the stage without tripping and stand silently next to Bren. When he meets my eyes, he looks as terrified as I am. From up close, he's just a kid like me. He can't be more than seventeen or so.

He pulls a slip from the other Reaping Ball. I get the feeling that he just wants to leave.

"F-Forest Hale," he stutters into the microphone.

I want to groan. Not him. Anyone but him, the one boy in the District who's more antisocial than I am. He's going to hate me.

Forest looks less depressed than he usually does. What in the world is wrong with him? His brown hair clearly hasn't seen a comb in days, and he looks like he just woke up ten minutes ago. I find his "friend" Deli in the crowd. She looks vaguely disappointed. Well, what an ever-loving _shame._

Forest glances in the direction of the woods, but you can't see them from here. He frowns and looks at the sky instead.

"A round of applause for Miriam Mefluia and Forest Hale!"

**District Six- Cordelia Winters, 16 years old**

"A goldfish's memory only lasts three seconds," I say conversationally.

"Shut up," my sister says brusquely. I can feel tears pricking at my eyes, but I fight them back. She'll only get meaner.

I'm silent the rest of the way to the Square. My sister stomps off toward the Eighteens section, and I make my way to my own. The other kids in my age group subtly shy away, and I sigh. I know they think I'm crazy. I'm not. I'm just completely awful at talking to people. They get freaked out when I try, and they get freaked out when I'm quiet. I can't win.

My parents couldn't come to the Reaping. Technically, Reaping Day is supposed to be a holiday, but they're working anyway. I wish they were here. Even if I couldn't talk to them, it would still be nice.

Across the Square, I can see a whole legion of boys trying to talk to my sister. She flirts with them, and I watch what she does carefully. Hair flip. Bat eyelashes.

… Slap? That can't be right.

I sigh and look at my shoes, letting myself zone out. The mayor is giving her speech. I wonder how she feels about it. She probably hates the Capitol. I don't hate them. Not really. They're just ignorant. I'm sure that if I'd been born there, I'd be just as bad. It'd be nice, of course, if they would stop killing people.

I look up again as the first tribute is drawn.

"Cordelia Winters!"

Oh, right. That's me.

Wait. That's me _for the Hunger Games._

I walk up to the stage, in shock. Dead dead dead dead dead. That's me.

I make it about ten seconds before I burst into tears. The escort ignores me, striding to the boys' Reaping Ball and sticking her hand in. She's so short that it's a moment before she manages to capture a piece of paper lying delicately on the surface of the chaos of paper within the glass orb.

"Alexis Ismene?" she says, like she's taking attendance at school or something.

A wiry boy in the Fifteens straightens up, his eyebrows rising like he's not sure he heard correctly. After a moment, he walks up to the stage, his expression perfectly neutral. He's pale, but I can't tell whether it's nervousness or his natural complexion. He doesn't _look_ nervous, and I wonder why.

When we shake hands, he smiles. I blink. It's the kind of smile that goes with sharp teeth. His light brown eyes meet mine. I think he's trying to act friendly, but I can't shake the feeling that at heart, he's anything but.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes for District Six!"

As I wipe tears from my face, I wonder how long I have left to live.


	7. Reapings 7 through 9

**Two updates in one day, good golly gosh. There's no way I'll be able to keep this up once I'm back in school, so don't think I'm dead when you don't hear from me for a few days. I'll try to wrap the Reapings up tomorrow, though.**

… **Dude. I've got a ton of 16 year old girls. Oh well.**

**District Seven- Everlay "Ever" Martire, 16**

"Ever, have you seen my necklace?" my mother calls from the kitchen.

"No," I call back innocently, slipping into her room and hurriedly returning the necklace to her jewelry box. I wince as the door opens and Liania steps inside.

She sighs. "Don't lie to me, Ever." I feel bad, but I know she won't punish me. She never does. I nod guiltily and dart from the room before she can say anything else.

My brother Teirany is leaning against the wall, smirking, but there's no venom in it. "Close but no shebang," he teases.

I scowl. "Oh, give me a break. You know I was going to give it back. She just didn't want me trying it on in the first place."

"Speaking of which," Teirany says in mock thoughtfulness, "I found this." He holds out a smooth wooden ring, swirled with light and dark, rich brown.

"Found it?" I say dubiously, slipping it onto my hand. "Where, on my dresser?"

"Nope. On your finger," he says innocently. "You really ought to learn to pay attention."

I smack my hand to my face, then think better of it and smack him instead. He probably could have dodged, but he just laughs. "Whatever. Hah. What… ever. Your name is Ever."

I stare at him in disbelief. "You've finally lost it."

"_Finally_ lost it? I lost it a long time ago, sister dearest."

"You, brother dearest, are a huge, freaking– Hello, Rivlyn." I cut myself off just in time. Rivlyn's ten; she doesn't know any swears and I want it to stay that way. Tierany's fourteen, but he's long since made the jump to the dark side. I prefer to have at least one sibling who doesn't give the constant impression of being about to be arrested. Honestly, out of all of us, I'm probably the most likely to commit a crime, but nobody would ever suspect me. As some great wiseman no doubt once said, good girls are bad girls who don't get caught. Truer words have never been spoken.

My family splits up once we arrive at the Square. Mom, Dad and Rivlyn head to the edge– she's not eligible for the Reaping, thankfully– and Tierany and I head to opposite ends of the Square.

"Good luck," my brother and I tell each other, even though I've got a ridiculous number of tesserae in there and I'm pretty sure he does, too. I can't stand the thought of him getting reaped. It's not quite as unlikely as I would have liked, although it's still less likely than me getting reaped. I run over my strategy in my head. Cry. Act weak. Then kill everyone.

I'm much quieter once I get into the Sixteens section. I don't really have any friends here. Thankfully, Ash decided to come over before heading to his own section in the Seventeens.

Ash has the kind of big blue eyes and boyish features that make it impossible to believe he's a world-class marauder. As far as I know, he's never been caught for a single one of the numerous petty crimes he commits to feed his family. His record is better than mine. When I was fifteen, I was caught stealing, and probably would have been whipped if that particular Peacekeeper hadn't been so gullible.

We talk about nothing until the escort bounds onto the stage. Thankfully, this one doesn't feel the need to talk for hours. She draws a piece of paper ceremoniously and strides to the microphone, blue eyebrows rising expressively as she enunciates my name.

Wait. _My_ name?

I sigh mentally. I knew this was coming. Good thing I already have a strategy.

I burst into loud, noisy tears and trip up to the stage.

"And now for the boys! Keadon Archer, you'll be our lucky male tribute this year!"

A tall, tan, generally not at all bad looking boy steps forward from the Sixteens section. I think he goes to my school, but I don't really know him. There's a collective wail of dismay from the back of the Square, and from my position on the stage, I can just make out a crowd of little kids clutching each other and sobbing.

Keadon gives me a tight smile as we shake hands, but his eyes are sad. I feel sort of bad for putting on the wide-eyed, sobbing act, but if it means he won't kill me, it's worth it.

I try to catch Tierany's eye. I have to tell him that I fully intend to come back. But I can't. He's looking down, so that all I can see is messy brown hair. A few of his friends are patting his back, but he doesn't seem to notice. I wonder if he hadn't realized how likely an outcome this was.

But it doesn't matter, because I _will_ come home.

**District Eight- Namitha Lakshmi, 16**

"Mimi? You ready?"

"Ngh," I reply eloquently, detaching my face from my pillow.

"Mimi! What are you doing?" Niko cries as she throws my door open. "The Reaping starts in ten minutes! Get up!"

I protest halfheartedly as my sister drags me out of bed. I don't do mornings. Not one little bit.

I manage to fight my sister out of my room. Turning to my closet, I sigh. Ten minutes… not enough time to get dressed. I shrug and put on my fanciest coat, figuring that it will make up for the fact that I'm wearing a T-shirt and short shorts under it. I slip into some cowboy boots for good measure.

My family is pacing near the door. I come flying down the stairs and we all troop outside, nearly tripping over my friend Kayla.

"Jeez, Nami, did you-"

"- Oversleep? Sure did."

"Alright, twins, no time to talk," my dad orders, shepherding us in the direction of the Square. I've always gotten a kick out of the fact that people call Kae and I the twins, since she's Caucasian and I look Indian, but I suppose we do sort of act like it.

Niko runs toward the Thirteens as soon as the Square is in sight. Kae and I take our sweet time making our way to our own section, even though the escort is already sticking her hand into the Reaping Ball. I'm barely listening, but I still hear the name she calls.

"Namitha Lakshmi!"

Oh dear.

I freeze in the middle of the Square, then force myself to walk toward the stage. I feel like I'm about to have a heart attack. I'm going to die. Okay. I can deal with that. Right? It's not like I'm going to die right this second, so I can keep it together for now. Panic attack later. Okay. Right.

But why, oh why did that hag-bitch from hell have to draw my name?

"Now let's pick our male tribute! Representing District Eight this year, along with the lovely Miss Lakshmi here of course, will be… Aubren Lupine!"

A dark-haired boy in the Thirteens gives a shocked little squeak, then claps a hand over his mouth. A few of the kids near him wince sympathetically, grabbing his shoulder when he sways a bit.

"Any volunteers?"

Silence. Aubren begins fighting his way to the stage, his face wrinkled like he's about to cry. Not that I'm blaming him. Poor kid.

"I volunteer!" a voice calls out of the blue from the Fifteens. A lanky, moppy-haired kid who can't possibly be related to Aubren flies up to the stage. He's the type who will probably be jaw-droppingly attractive in a few years, but right now, he just looks strange. His hands, feet, and jaw are too big for the rest of him, and he doesn't quite seem to know what to do with his over-long arms and legs.

"Suede Poriskova," he says determinedly when the escort hands him the microphone. Aubren slinks back into his section.

"And… are you Aubren's friend or something?"

"Never seen him before in my life," the boy says with a triumphant grin.

Huh. So my District partner is quite possibly insane, or has a death wish. Fan-freaking-tastic. My gaze happens to fall on a girl in the Fifteens. She's staring up at Suede with a stunned, devastated expression, and I can't help but feel sorry for her. It's pretty obvious that she has a crush on him… and he just _had_ to go volunteer for some random kid. I make a mental note to ask him what the hell is wrong with him at some point.

**District Nine- Ophelia "Ella" Dyste, 16**

"Fine!" my mom snarls. "If you don't want to come, that's just fine. If Ella gets reaped, I hope she never forgives you."

I stare from my mom to my dad, my head moving like I'm watching a tennis match. The clock creeps closer and closer to the time we have to leave.

"Um…?" I say hesitantly. Neither notices.

"Look, maybe you think I just work to amuse myself, but believe it or not, it's actually because I don't want _you_ to starve to death."

"Starve to death? Quit being so dramatic. We wouldn't go hungry if you took one goddamned day off. You just want to get promoted."

"Mom? Dad? We have to go."

"I'm trying to help! You'd complain if I _didn't_ work my ass off!"

I huff, turn on my heel, and walk straight out the front door, slamming it pointedly behind me. I doubt either of my parents noticed. Like all of their other arguments, my mom started it, but I sort of wish Dad could let things go a bit. It's hypocritical of me, I suppose, but he's always determined to prove his point if he thinks he's right, even though there's no way she'll ever listen.

On my way to my section, I stop to talk to Tally, a girl I tutor in reading. This is her first Reaping, and I know she's been terrified about it.

"Have you seen the other Districts?" Tally squeaks as soon as she sees me. "Those Careers? They're going to kill me!"

"You won't get reaped, Talls," I say comfortingly. "You don't have any tesserae, I thought?"

"No, but…"

"You'll be fine. And I promise if you _do_ get reaped there'll be someone who will look out for you," I say sadly. I can't quite bring myself to say that I'll volunteer for her, because deep down, I know I wouldn't be brave enough.

I dart back to my own section as our escort leaps across the stage, catching everyone's attention with a spectacular combination of neon orange hair and alarmingly enthusiastic jazz hands.

"Let's get started, hmm?" he says in a strained falsetto. The crowd winces collectively. "For our female tribute… Ophelia Dyste!"

I start crying before I can even think about it. Tally is watching me, everyone's watching me, but I don't care. I'm going to die. They can think whatever they want.

I stand as far toward the back of the stage as I can without falling off, covering my face so I don't have to look at the escort. If I did, I'd probably boot him straight into the crowd. I wonder for a moment what the Capitol would do if I did. Probably kill my parents or something like that. I hate them. I really do.

"Jaeger Cline!"

I glance up to see a brown-haired boy shoving his way from the Sixteens with a face like a storm cloud. I get the feeling that this is pretty much his general state of existence. He's snarling something under his breath, but I can't tell what, although I have a pretty decent idea.

He shakes my hand with more force than is strictly necessary, pointedly refusing to meet my eyes. I have no idea what I, or indeed the rest of the world, have ever done to offend this boy, but apparently it was something quite serious.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of District Nine!"


	8. Reapings 10 through 12

**District Ten- Ariadne "Ari" Farest, 17**

"We probably ought to go, you know," Mark points out.

"No!" I insist. "I am _not_ doing homework after the Reaping! Two more questions!"

Mark gives a long-suffering sigh, but doesn't object. His twin Jake leans out my open window, yelling down to what I assume is a group of girls passing by. Mark rolls his eyes. "He means well, I swear. Fine. Read the question."

I glance down.

_ohW asw brspsioenle rfo het aren-lttoa etiostrducn of maPne?_

"Who…" I begin with a scowl. "… Was… blah blah blah blah Panem. At a rough guess, either the Capitol or the rebels?"

Mark snorts. "Funny thing is, you're right. Come on, one letter at a time."

"Screw this." I scribble _The Capitol_ and throw down my pencil. Mark winces.

"I wouldn't advise turning that in. I know you love picking fights, but trust me, you don't want this one."

"Well, tell me what the damn question said, then!"

For a moment I think Mark is going to keep up the teacher act and refuse to tell me, but another glance at the clock convinces him. "It's 'Who was responsible for the near-total destruction of Panem?'"

I whistle. "Oh."

"Yeah."

My mom chooses that moment to run into the room. "What are you all still doing here?" she asks worriedly. "Boys, I thought you were still eighteen? Ari, I _know_ you're not nineteen."

"I'm not?" I say jokingly. My mom laughs.

"If only. I swear, only in Panem would a mother wish her kids were older. Now get down there before you get in trouble, and good luck! I'll be down as soon as I finish Marie's cake."

My sister, unlucky kid that she is, was born on Reaping Day seven years ago. I shudder at the thought of poor Marie ever getting reaped, adding insult to injury.

The twins and I hustle down to the Square. We're not even close to being the last ones. District Ten is huge, but sparsely populated, since pretty much everyone lives on a ranch. People arrive for the Reaping over the course of hours. Thankfully, we live about a fifteen-minute jog away.

It's not too long until the Reaping begins. I don't really know any of the girls in my section, so I just space out while our ancient mayor reads the Treaty of Treason. I'm reminded of the supposedly subjective question on my homework. _They_ destroyed Panem with these Games. I'd honestly love to see some Capitol kids thrown into the arena. They'd be the first to die. Hell, I'd be the one to kill–

"Ariadne Farest!"

"Ari," I correct automatically. A moment passes. I curse. Colorfully and enthusiastically. What, were they reading my mind or something? Now they're the thought police. Of _course._

I know I'm being crazy, but I keep up my mental tirade all the way up to the stage, anything to keep myself from thinking about the fact that _oh my goodness holy crap dammit dammit I'm dead._

"Whitfield Vachel!"

There's a collective sigh of dismay from the crowd. Clearly, this kid is more popular than I am. Which is kind of strange, because I've never heard of him.

The boy who joins me on the stage is fourteen years old and pretty well-built for his age, although he's the type who looks like he'd be really skinny if he let his muscle fade. He has dusty, dirty blond hair and friendly brown eyes and unless I've completely lost it he would appear to be smiling.

The hell?

I raise my eyebrows in a what-in-the-world-is-wrong-with-you look as we shake hands. He winks. I assume that's supposed to mean it's an act. I don't really see how acting positively thrilled to get murdered is a good strategy, but whatever, it's his funeral.

… Or, you know, not.

**District Eleven- Rosaline Hargrove, 15**

I dart to the edge of the stage, knowing I'll regret it, but someone has to try to reason with my dad. The sound of the whip falling yet again makes me wince, even though it's not me being struck.

"It's Reaping Day, Dad!" I plead. "What if he's called? He'll get killed! He's too young! The Square is completely full of people; don't you think the Capitol wouldn't want–"

"Rosaline," my dad, the Mayor, hisses through gritted teeth, "Get… back… to… your… section. He was caught stealing, and this is a perfect time to make an example."

"No! He's going to die! Let him go!"

My father's hand balls into a fist, but I know he won't hit me in front of everybody. At least I don't think so. He takes a few deep breaths, visibly calming himself. I fix him with a challenging glare, but I can't stop myself from flinching as the whip falls again, accompanied by a muffled yelp and a groan from the crowd.

"He's _twelve,_ Dad," I attempt again, pairing the plea with my best puppy-dog eyes. No effect whatsoever. My father stares down at me disdainfully, then glances toward the center of the crowd and holds up five fingers.

Five more hits for the poor boy. I wonder if it would have been less if I hadn't tried to interfere.

My dad glares and points imperiously toward the Fifteens section. I glare right back at him, but slink off before he decides to take his anger at me out on the boy.

_Crack._ Four more.

I duck under the rope, deliberately avoiding looking toward the center of the Square. I probably wouldn't be able to see, anyway, with so many people around, but I don't want to risk it. I'm terrified of making eye contact with my dad's latest victim. I know it's not my fault, but I should be able to help them. Of course, I'd be able to if my dad wasn't a soulless, heartless bastard who cared even less for me than he did for anyone else…

_Crack._ Three. This boy isn't the worst off, at least. I know he didn't take more then five or so hits before I tried to talk to my dad. Maybe he's unconscious. I hope so.

_Crack._ Two. The girls in my section stare determinedly at the ground, none of us meeting each other's eyes. At least, none of them meet my eyes. Some are exchanging knowing glances, probably because I'm about fifty times wealthier than any of them, and they want nothing to do with me.

_Crack._ One more. The Square is completely silent, everyone almost praying for the last strike to fall, just so that it will be over. The Peacekeeper takes his time.

_Whistle. Crack._

The crowd lets out a sigh of relief.

_Crack._

Five more! My dad said five! There's an angry mutter, and everyone turns toward the center of the Square, but I've learned by now that no one will do anything. I ball my hands into fists. If that Peacekeeper swings the whip one more time, I will personally stuff it down his throat. There's another frozen silence as everyone waits to see what will happen. Nothing does. A man in white strides up the middle of the Square, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. I glance up at my dad to see how he'll react to his orders being disobeyed, but he isn't even looking at the Peacekeeper. He reads the Treaty of Treason, then introduces the escort. We've had the same escort for as long as I can remember, a blue-dyed man who says everything four times as loudly as is strictly necessary. He plunges his hand into the girls' Reaping Ball.

"Rosaline Hargrove!"

There's a gasp of surprise from just about everyone but me. I fix my dad with an accusing stare as I make my way to the stage, wondering if he might finally regret forcing me to take a ridiculous number of tesserae.

He's grinning.

"And I expect you to win," he growls in my ear as he embraces me theatrically, before shoving me to the back of the stage.

"And for the boys! Lupe Pelletier!"

As soon as I hear the crowd muttering– _How can they do that? They wouldn't, would they? Poor boy–_ I know who's been reaped, and it's just my luck. Well, just his luck, I suppose.

A skinny, messy-haired boy stumbles from the center of the Square, his head hanging. He makes it halfway up the stairs before he collapses. The back of his torn shirt is stained with blood. Two Peacekeepers drag him onto the stage, but it's useless; he's out cold.

I wonder how many kids could honestly say that they want to kill their only parent?

**District Twelve- Anne Small, 14**

"Loki! No!" I scold quietly, flicking the sparrow away from the worm. Thor gobbles down his rightful piece, and I smile. Justice.

"You're a lunatic, you know that?" comes Holly's harsh voice from behind me. I slam the window shut, mentally apologizing to the sparrows who nest outside it as they fly away in fear. "Maybe if you stopped talking to birds, _people_ might talk to you."

I vaguely consider thinking of a comeback, but decide that it's not really worth the trouble. Instead, I shrug and duck past my sister. She trips me.

"Oops," she giggles. I sigh and dart from the room before she can do anything else.

"Finally," Jon sighs as I walk outside, regardless of the fact that Holly's not out yet.

I wish my twin were alive. That would be nice. Maybe she'd like me. Or he, I suppose. I've never asked. But I think she was a girl. I wonder what her name would have been.

I manage to slip away from my dad and sister before we even get to the Square. They don't notice. I duck in between groups of people until I make it to my section, then hightail it to the back once I'm there, secure in the knowledge that none of the other girls will try to talk to me. They've learned by now that it's useless.

I close my eyes and listen to the footsteps around me, wondering if there's some kind of pattern. By the number and weight of the footfalls and time of arrival, I can guess which family is walking behind me. Clumsy and heavy, a miner… quiet but sharp, a cultured townswoman… a gaggle of little kids and a deeper, but not quite adult, voice ordering them after their mother, but no footsteps to match… a hunter.  
>The Sylvers, I think. I open my eyes to see if I'm right, and yelp when a boy my age's face is inches from my own. He's standing just on the other side of the rope marking off my section, ignoring the two kids pulling at his arms.<p>

"Hey," he says. "I was just about to ask if you were okay."

I reply with something along the lines of "Eep?"

He looks a little puzzled. "Okay, good. Um, see you."

I keep my eyes on the ground from then on.

The Reaping begins, and the square falls silent. I cross my arms over the front of my once-blue-now-grey dress, leaning carefully away from the girl in front of me. My back is bent uncomfortably over the rope, but it's worth it to avoid bumping into her and making her turn around.

"And for our female tribute this year… Anne Small!"

I blink. I'm Anne Small. I've been reaped. Is that even possible? Of course it is, but… but that's _me._ I'm me! I don't kill people!

Which means, I suppose, that other people kill _me_.

I walk to the stage clumsily, keeping my expression blank and stunned. I can't manage anything else, even though my train of thought seems to be running on repeat. They honestly expect me to kill someone. Me. I don't think I've ever killed anything bigger than an earthworm, and that was just to feed the sparrows.

Our escort's hairstyle wilts a bit as she digs her hand into the boys' Reaping Ball.

"Caston Marks!"

I do a double take when the boy appears from the Thirteens section, because I honestly can't believe that he's more than ten. He looks terrified, brown eyes wide and scared. Even before he shakes my hand, I can tell that he's shaking. The crowd is silent and subdued, except for a girl who must be the boy's twin sobbing uncontrollably in her own section. They know as well as I do that District Twelve does not have a victory in its future.

**I'll probably get started on the chariots right now, since it's the last day of break and I don't have anything better to do.**

**School. Bleh. DO NOT WANT.**


	9. Chariots

**District One- Sol Ignis, 16**

"I _love_ your hair!"

"Thanks," I say bemusedly. The prep team girl blushes spectacularly. Being a ginger is usually a bit of a curse, but I guess natural red hair is a novelty here in the Capitol.

"What's he going to be dressed as?" a purple-haired man asks, tugging at the red hair that seems to amuse them so much. I wince, making a conscious effort to keep my temper. They're morons, but I don't want to hurt them. Well, not really.

"Oh, shh! It's a surprise, you know that!" squeals a second woman, her entire body dyed an icy blue. Flecks of artificial frost dot her skin and hair. She looks like she's about to drop dead from hypothermia.

The three prep team members bicker like little kids, and I endure the various torments they turn on me. I've trained for the Games, but nobody every prepared me to get my eyebrows waxed. Seriously, what the hell?

I scowl but manage to keep my cool as they finish messing with my hair and move to my nails. Who _cares_ what my nails look like? Nobody will even be able to see them if they're not standing way too close for comfort. I snort a bit when I think of the state they'll be in a week from now. I wonder what kind of state _I'll_ be in a week from now.

My stylist dances into the room wielding a jewel covered jumpsuit. I raise one eyebrow. I'd been expecting something like that, I suppose, but I can't quite manage to fake any enthusiasm. My stylist and prep team look a bit disappointed by my lack of reaction, and for a moment I almost feel guilty, before I realize how completely ridiculous it is. I'll be enthusiastic about a jumpsuit when they'll stop killing teenagers.

I throw on the jumpsuit and follow my stylist down the hall, where Luster is waiting by the elevator. She's dressed the same as me, although it probably suits her much better. She looks kind of stressed, though. I wonder what's wrong, but I'm hesitant to make friends with her. I didn't miss the fact that she hesitated before volunteering, but she still volunteered. She's got a trick or two up her sleeve, and I'd rather not find out the hard way what they are.

"Ready to go meet the competition?" she says, her voice sounding a bit strained.

"Sure." We step into the elevator. She looks a little green, and finally I have to ask. "Is something wrong? If you're just nervous about the Games, that's understandable."

Luster shakes her head. "No. Kind of. I mean…" She looks like she's arguing with herself about something. "Why'd you volunteer, Sol?"

I'm surprised to find that I'm honestly thrown by the question. "Well, I… I mean, I've trained. I was… supposed to?" It sounds weak, and both of us know it.

"Do you actually think you're going to win? Are you going to kill?"

I shrug. "I've got a better chance than most. And I'll do what I have to, I guess."

"Do you _want_ to kill anyone?"

"… No."

We're both quiet for a moment as the elevator ticks through the floors. Finally, Luster speaks up. "When the Games start, stay away from me, okay?"

"What? What are you talking about?" I ask, thoroughly confused. "You mean the whole time? What are you going to do?"

"Just keep your distance at the Bloodbath, alright? You can decide whether you want to be around me after that."

The elevator door opens with a _ding,_ and Luster vanishes into the crowd of people before I can ask her anything else.

**District Two- Talon Creed, 17**

Lithe sidesteps toward me. I take a step away. She steps toward me again. I try to move away again, but my shoulder hits the wall of the elevator. I scowl as she proceeds to have absolutely no respect for my personal bubble, rubbing against my shoulder and shooting me what I suppose is intended to be a seductive smile.

I mean, she's hot, I'll give her that, but I remember what happened to her boyfriend at the Reaping. Not to mention the fact that I'm pretty sure her nails left scars when she all but clawed my hand. She scares me, basically.

We step out into the room where the chariots are stored, she in her gold dress and me in my Peacekeeper-inspired tuxedo. There are mentors, escorts, stylists, Avoxes, Capitol attendants, and even a few tributes running in every direction. Lithe and I set out wordlessly for the front of the chariot line. I have to admit, I'm eager to meet the tributes from One and Four. I watched their Reapings, but it's always sort of difficult to tell what is and isn't an act.

Lithe casually boots a little girl out of her way. I don't remember what District the kid's from, but she mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse and scuttles away. I feel bad, but it's not worth tangling with Lithe over it. I guess I'd better get used to seeing her hit people, seeing as I've got to watch her kill people pretty soon.

We have to walk past most of the line of tributes before we make it to our chariot, and we're some of the last ones out. Most of them stare, some most of them glare. I take careful notice of the various reactions.

Both Twelves are staring at their shoes. Only the Eleven girl is there, but she shoots me a defiant stare. The Tens aren't out yet. The Nine girl makes eye contact, and tries a hesitant smile when she catches me looking back. I return it even though I know it's a bad idea. I feel kind of bad for her, since her District partner is staring at the chariot rim like he thinks he can light it on fire if he glares at it hard enough.

Both Eights look mildly interested, neither intimidated nor particularly friendly, and appear to have paused in the middle of a conversation. The Sevens don't even look up. The boy looks confused, and the girl looks a bit guilty, like he's just caught her in a lie. The Six girl isn't out yet, but the boy glances up sharply, the corner of his mouth twitching. The Fives are staring in opposite directions, both clearly fuming.

The Four boy vaults out of his chariot as soon as we arrive. "Mika Jensoll," he says, extending his hand. I shake it, appraising him. He's about my height, but with a bigger build, and he's one of those people who just look mean. He sizes me up and smirks a bit, and I can already sense the beginning of a battle of wills.

Lithe looks like she's trying to make her mind up about something, glancing from me to Mika. I'm pretty sure I know what she's thinking: which of us is more likely to fall for a goddamned succubus.

"Lithe Charm," she purrs. Apparently she's made her decision. Mika's smirk widens as he takes her hand, and I can tell he thinks he's just stolen my girlfriend. Well, he's welcome to her. She's nuts.

A girl stumbles from the elevator toward the Four chariot, glancing toward us quickly like she's hoping she won't be noticed. Being Careers, all of us do, of course. Mika turns toward her, rolling his eyes and gesturing her over.

"Well, Venesse?" he says impatiently. "This is Lithe and Talon. Lithe and Talon, this is Venesse. " I notice that he says Lithe's name like it's precious, and all but spits mine.

The poor girl looks terrified. Before anyone can say anything, the Ones stroll over. Or rather, the girl does. The boy walks over a few seconds later, looking a bit confused about something. Mika goes through the whole formal-introduction routine again, and I make a point of remembering everyone's name. Sol and Luster, Mika and Venesse, and obviously Talon and Lithe.

"Venesse here is having a bit of trouble deciding whether she's part of the Career pack or not," Mika explains exasperatedly.

Lithe's lips curve into a nasty smile. "Well, is she a Career?" she turns to Venesse, looking pointedly down her nose even though she's not that much taller. "Are you?"

"I'll join," the girl growls, and I get the feeling she's legitimately pissed. I decide to make sure Lithe doesn't kill her once the Games start. Or at least not immediately.

**District Three- Chord Tykee, 15**

Annie and I stay in the chariot and try to look inconspicuous as the Careers continue their discussion. Despite the noise, we're so close that we can hear every word. Annie curses quietly as the Four girl agrees to join. That makes a full pack.

I can't get up the nerve to talk to Annie any more than I can anyone else, and she doesn't want to talk to me either. I can't tell whether she's shy or just doesn't like me. More likely the latter.

I glance up and jump when I see the Career pack standing over me, the Twos and Four boy at the front.

"Want in?" the Four boy says, just as the Two boy asks, "What's your name?" They turn and glare at each other for a moment, then turn back to me.

"Well?" asks the one from Four.

"You know, you could at least tell him your name first," the Two guy says wryly. His District partner flips her hair. It hits him in the face hard enough that he curses and claps a hand to his eye, and I wonder whether it was intentional or not. Probably.

"Oh, Talon," the girl says, clearly doing her best to make her voice sound feminine, but even I can hear the venom in it.

The Four boy smirks. "Mika Jensoll," he says smugly, adding "And you are?" with a sarcastic glance at the other boy, who rolls his eyes.

I mumble my name.

"What's that?"

"Chord Tykee," I say a bit louder, but barely. The Careers consider that for a moment.

"Nice to meet you, Chord. So. Any interest in being part of our alliance?" They don't even look at Annie, who keeps her eyes on the chariot floor.

I consider it. I don't really want to. I don't want to hurt anybody, and I know that if I join, they'll expect me to. But I'm not used to refusing. I have no idea what to say. So I mumble, "Okay."

"Good!" Mika says, obviously pleased. Talon rolls his eyes again, and the girl glares at him. "Just run straight to the Cornucopia when the gong rings, nobody will try to hurt you." I don't really know how he can guarantee that, but of course I don't say anything. I also notice that the One girl's eyebrows shoot up for a split second, but she doesn't say anything either.

The Capitol attendants suddenly go crazy, waving their arms and shoving everyone toward their chariots. The Careers make a point of taking their sweet time, swaggering along and ignoring the adults bustling around them. They've barely climbed into their chariots when they begin to move. I put a hand on the rim to steady myself, glancing at Annie, but she still won't look at me.

"So you're a Career now, huh?" she says quietly without looking up.

I _knew_ she'd be mad at me. What was I supposed to do? I'd have six angry Careers on my hands if I'd refused! But no matter what I do, it always seems to be wrong.

"Sorry," I mumble. "I won't– I mean, if we run into you…"

"You won't, don't worry," she cuts me off sharply. I have no idea how to respond to that, so I don't.

**District Four- Mika Jensoll, 18**

I spend a few moments glaring at Talon's back before deciding that Lithe is entirely more aesthetically pleasing. At least, I muse, I have a good idea of what to expect from Talon. He's big, but still smaller than me, and he's obviously not all that ferocious. I don't know how the One boy operates, though, and I make a mental note to find out. I'm taller, but he's at least as muscular as I am, and I have no idea where he stands in terms of weapons and skills. His District partner shouldn't be a problem, and mine definitely won't be. I prefer not to think about killing Lithe. I'll definitely keep her around for a while.

The chariots roll out into the Capitol. Venesse is keeping her distance from me, waving serenely to the crowd like our mentor coached her. I have no idea what possessed me to invite her into our alliance. I didn't want District Four to look weak, I suppose, but I think we'd have been better off with no female Career than an awful one. Well, that can be arranged, I think with a mental shrug.

I'm no looker and I know it, but the Capitol girls go wild. I'm a novelty, I suppose. Well, fine, as long as they sponsor me. I give a winning smile and a magnanimous wave, making eye contact with as many people as possible and doing my best to flex my muscles without being completely obvious about it. Not that they'd mind, I suppose.

The Ones and Twos are playing the part of confident, competent Careers, although I scowl when I notice Lithe edging toward Talon. What's his game? I'll get him for that. The Threes, of course, look unsure of themselves, but that's fine. I just need that boy for extra muscle, since I don't plan on having Talon around for long.

I risk a glance behind me, even though my mentor told me to keep my eyes on the crowd, but I think it's worth it to scope out the competition. Hah. Some competition. The Fives are obviously sullen, waving robotically at the Capitol crowd like they're wishing they would all just drop dead. Which, I reflect, is actually probably an accurate assessment of their thoughts right now. The Six girl looks a little uncertain, but happy enough, and her District partner is waving slowly with an odd little smile on his face.

We roll into the square, and the crowd quiets down to a dull roar for the President's address. It's pretty short this year, thankfully. Finally, we roll into the Training Center and the chariot rides are done.


	10. Training

**District Five- Forest Hale, 17**

I'm not positive, but I'm reasonably sure that my District partner Miriam wants to kill me.

Huh.

She darts away from me as soon as we step into the gymnasium. I almost regret it. She's smart, at least, and I could probably have an intelligent conversation with her, but unfortunately she's written me off as a royal bastard. I suppose I could have been a bit nicer, but she didn't exactly go out of her way to make friends, either.

I push the thought from my mind and glance around at the assembled tributes as a Capitol woman lectures us about the training rules. I don't think anyone's listening; we're all staring at each other and trying not to get caught. I wonder offhandedly which one of them will kill me. I suppose the arena might get me. I frown at the thought. That won't do.

The Career pack looks dangerous this year, with four huge boys. I watched the Reapings, and the Two girl struck me as dangerous, if a bit unhinged. The One and Four girls don't seem all that scary, but it could just be because they're younger. Still, I resolve not to let them kill me either. It's just not impressive enough.

I notice that the other kids are drifting apart, heading to different stations. I can't decide whether I want to watch them and see if anyone catches my eye, either as being particularly dangerous or particularly pretty, or try to actually learn something. I finally stride over to the knife station.

"Know how to use these already?" chirps the attendant, a man who can't be more than five years older than me.

"I know how to use them the _normal _way," I snap. "But believe it or not, I've never actually slit someone's throat before."

The man blinks. "Would you like me to teach you?" he asks, his voice just as bright as before.

"Please do," I reply with a sigh.

The Capitol guy knows what he's doing, and it's a bit of a blow to my pride every time he beats me, even though I know it's irrational. I'm a bit happier when he shows me how to throw them, though, because I turn out to have a bit of a knack for it. I tilt my head thoughtfully, imagining the bulls-eye target as a living, breathing tribute. I can't quite visualize it. Not because I can't see myself killing someone, though. I just can't manage to project a person, always a vague silhouette.

I growl mentally as Miriam strolls toward the knife booth. She seems to have made an alliance. The District Six girl troops along next to her, both of them looking like they've just won the Hunger Games. That'll be the day.

I scowl and slump against the booth, deliberately ignoring them. I wonder what would ever possess someone to make an alliance. They _know_ that at least one of them will die. They act like they genuinely care about each other, and the hypocrisy of it infuriates me. All of us are either willing to kill, expecting to die, or in my case, both. I don't see the point of trying, honestly. Life is life. We're already alive, aren't we? It amazes me that people think the _length_ of their life is a big deal. Who cares? You just have to actually make the connection of what life _is_, and you've pretty much won. The problem is that I just don't quite… get it. But I will.

**District Six- Alexis Ismene, 15**

"Cordelia's made a friend," I observe, inspecting the butcher's knife carefully. The Five boy glances down. He looks surprised for a split second, but recovers almost instantly.

"Apparently," he says, his voice decidedly cold.

I keep talking anyway, more to myself than him. "She means well, though. More than you can say for most of them." I gesture in the general vicinity of the rest of the tributes.

"More than you can say for most people," the boy replies, although he still seems disinterested. I lose interest too, shrugging and returning my attention to the knife. I vaguely register the boy leaving a few seconds later.

I keep my face blank, fighting back the grin induced by the very idea of the Hunger Games. It's like they were created for me. No Peacekeepers whipping me half to death every time they catch me with anything that could be used as a weapon, no suspicious adults watching me…

I glance up, watching the other tributes train and talk. I can see a few alliances coming together already, tenuous bonds of trust formed despite the reigning atmosphere of anxiety and fear. I can't help being interested. By definition, they can't last. They're too fragile to stand up to something like death. Even the threat of death will bring it all crashing down.

I try to comprehend the fact that of all the kids in this room, only one of them will be alive within a few weeks. It's amazing how fragile they are. How many tiny little things can go wrong, death resulting from a single artery or a nerve or a knife in their throat. I glance down at my own wrist, blue veins easily visible under pale skin. I'm no less vulnerable. I'll die, too. I wonder how. I glance at the Careers thoughtfully. They might kill me, I suppose. But that would mean losing to them, and I'm not sure I want to do that. The arena itself, then? Maybe, if I can pull it off in such a way that the Gamemakers will know that they didn't do it, I did. Should be easy enough. A cliff, a tree, a mutt, hell, a bit of rope is all I need to make sure they never own me.

But not until I get bored, of course. Only when I'm done playing their little game that I refuse to win. Because all of us lose, but the Victors lose big. If you die in the Games, you lose the rest of your life. If you win them, you get replaced, wiping out even the years you've already lived. To lose is death, but to win is annihilation and slavery.

So whomever I run into in the arena, well, I'll be doing them a favor.

I look back down at the blade, studying my reflection. I know how I'll be remembered. Murderer, butcher, lunatic… but they won't forget me.

**District Seven- Keadon Archer, 16**

"I'm Rosaline," the girl says with a soft smile. Her voice is quiet, but I get the feeling that she could be pretty tough if she wanted to be.

"Keadon Archer," I reply, shaking her hand and trying to decide whether I trust her. Not yet.  
>"And this is Lupe," Rosaline continues, gesturing at the skinny boy standing slightly behind her, staring at his shoes. He glances up at the sound of his name. He's got a wary look in his eyes, like he expects me to attack him. Briar was kind of like that. We never found out why.<p>

The boy doesn't make a move to shake my hand, and I don't force it. I assume that Rosaline's looking for an alliance, and I honestly can't decide whether I want it or not. I know I'm physically stronger than both of them, and would be more likely to survive on my own. But I can't help thinking… I'm competing against training Careers. I'm a good fighter and I know it, but do I really have a prayer? If I'm going to die, I don't want to do it alone. I can't remember ever _being_ alone, with Kira and Rian and Sheperd, Kyla, Buddy, Alyssa, Briar and Dan and Maxx and Jules all running around the community home constantly, making tons of noise and bouncing off the walls.

I have to admit that I like the idea of someone watching out for _me_ for once. But I can't shake the feeling that I shouldn't trust them. It's irrational and I know it, but I can't help it. Both of them are probably about as likely to kill me as they are to fly, but… I don't know.

I finally decide that it's worth the risk. I'm still nervous about it, but it's not like I couldn't defend myself against them, is it? Rosaline's a year younger than me and at least six inches shorter, and I'm pretty sure I could knock Lupe out by thinking mean thoughts at him.

Rosaline seems to be reading my mind. "So… if you're not interested, it's perfectly fine, but do you want to ally with us? To start out with, at least? We won't stop you if you change your mind during the Games, as long as you don't, you know, announce the change of plans by trying to kill us." She laughs weakly.

"Sounds good. The allying part, I mean, not the… you know."

She laughs again. "Thanks. Want to train with us, then? What were you doing?"

I shrug. "Standing here looking stupid, really. What did you want to do?"

"I was thinking knives? Then maybe snares or something?"

"Okay." We wander over to the knife booth just as the District Five boy leaves. His District partner and the Six girl are there too, but they seem friendly enough. The Six boy is sitting on the floor, leaning against the booth with his eyes closed, although something tells me he's perfectly alert. We step around him carefully. An attendant runs over almost immediately.

Rosaline decides to learn to throw. My aim's pretty awful, so I opt for normal knife fighting. Lupe mumbles something inaudible when the assistant asks him what he wants to do, so she sets him against me in a mock knife fight. Lupe's much quicker than I would have expected, and I find myself having to stay focused to defend myself, but I can't help thinking that if this were real and I'd had an axe, he would be very, very dead. Well, that or I could just shove him over. But he seems happy enough with his newfound skill, so it's good enough for me.

I really don't want to see him die, I realize. Not Rosaline, either. I have a feeling that their alliance only exists because Rosaline felt sorry for Lupe, although he might not be quite the liability I'd expected. He probably knows a fair bit about plants, too, I consider, and I bet he can climb. He'll be useful when it comes to finding food. I'm reasonably fond of my chances against pretty much anyone but the Careers, and I've got a feeling that Rosaline's tougher than she looks. Who knows? Maybe we'll be okay.

Well, I know we can't _all_ be okay. But maybe we can survive long enough to die as friends, because I desperately want to trust them.

**District Eight- Suede Poriskova, 15**

"Suede, I swear to all that is holy, if you crack one more stupid joke I will punch you in the gut."

I tilt my head, struggling desperately to think of the stupidest possible joke based on what Namitha just said. Disappointingly, nothing comes to mind. Instead, I give an injured sniff and stare down my nose at her.

"_Stupid_ jokes, O Namitha dearest? You break my heart, you really do."

She punches me in the gut.

"That wasn't even a joke!" I gasp, doubling over. "Stupid, yes. Joke, no."

"Dumbass."

"Asshat."

Namitha rolls her eyes, but I know from experience that there are very few comebacks when someone calls you an asshat. I smile triumphantly, straightening up and grabbing the bow I was going for when she oh-so-unfairly punched me.

"And I've seen you looking at that Seven boy, by the way," I add just to piss her off.

Every feature seems to double in size, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping. I think she's going to scream at me for a second, or maybe deck me again, but she doesn't.

"I have not," she squeaks.

"Laaaaame response," I shoot back without looking at her, loosing the arrow and smirking when it hits impressively close to the target.

"It's true!"

I flip my curly hair theatrically. "Liar," I crow in a singsong voice, which earns me another punch, but this time I'm paying enough attention to dodge.

"Bwitch."

I blink. "What did you just call me?"

"You heard me," she growls.

"I'm sorry, but I really don't think I did."

"_Bwitch!_"

"Ah," I reply bemusedly, scratching my head. "I guess I did."

Namitha snorts and picks up a bow, sending an arrow thudding into the target. I note with no small amount of satisfaction that mine was closer, and decide to point it out to her. She punches me again.

"Violence is not the answer."

It seems to set her off on a train of thought, because her eyes slide out of focus for a moment. I'm expecting for her to come out with some philosophical tidbit that'll fly right over my head, but I'm not prepared for her real question.

"Why _did_ you volunteer?"

I hesitate, momentarily thrown. I have an answer, sort of, but it's not a very good one. The stupid truth was, I wanted to get away from my brother. Not away from_him,_ exactly, but away from the fact that my parents are over the moon about every little thing he does, and I'm the disappointment. I honestly don't know whether I thought I'd win when I volunteered. They'd have to notice me then, I think wryly. But that's unlikely. I glance toward the seven-person Career alliance taking over the swordfighting station, two of the boys sparring in a way that makes me think somebody better interfere before they kill each other. I imagine skinny, awkward me trying to stand up to one of them. It's a wince-worthy thought.

"Well?"

"I'm a moron?" I shrug, fixing my usual doofish grin on my face.

Namitha raises an eyebrow, but doesn't push it.


	11. Interviews

**District Nine- Jaeger Cline, 16**

I glance at one of the large interview screens. It shows the time in the corner: noon. I could be hunting right now. I can't remember a day in my life when I _haven't_been hunting right now, except that time a few months ago when I looked the tiniest bit sick and my mother took it as a reason not to let me out all day. Dad managed to fill the quota without me. I don't like to think about that.

I guess it's a good thing now, though, because since Chell is completely useless and my mom honestly thinks the best use of her time is taking care of Chell, it'll be completely on his shoulders to bring in enough game.

I glance habitually over my shoulders. Stupid. It's unlikely that there are wildcats in the interview amphitheater-room-type-thing. No, there's something worse: Capitol citizens. The reason I'm not hunting right now. If only this room was the woods, and I had my bow and rope and knife. I wouldn't even have to turn them in at the end of the day if it were the Capitol people I was hunting.

Ophelia turns toward me just as a slight smirk creeps across my face. She smiles hopefully. I instantly turn the smirk into a glare, and she stares at her shoes.

The One girl flutters from the stage. I fix a glare at her too, but she doesn't notice. Her District partner replaces her, straightening the red shirt under his tuxedo. I think it's supposed to be the color of blood. Well, it isn't. I would know. These stylists have never seen blood in their lives.

The boy is fairly dull, coming across as competent enough, but largely keeping quiet. That, at least, I appreciate. It's a rare quality. The Two girl, of course, simpers and flirts and generally drives my blood pressure through the roof. I can't actually tell the interviewer's gender, but the girl- Lithe, I learn- flirts with… _it_ unflinchingly. That takes a kind of courage, I guess.

And so the interviews go, until finally it's my turn. I slouch up to the stage, fixing the interviewer with a scowl and counting in my head. Three minutes. _It_ can talk to_it_self for three minutes for all I care.

"So Jaeger!" The voice is too deep to be female. I decide the interviewer is male, for convenience's sake. He mutilates my name, pronouncing every vowel long and growling the "r" like a rabid wild dog. I hate wild dogs. A pack of them stole my kill once. Ripped my arm open too, but it was the loss of the deer that made me chase them through the woods and shoot them, one by one, until I got it back. The officials don't take dog as part of the quota, of course, but it made me feel better.

I realize that the interviewer expects a reply. I consider leaving him hanging, but eventually deign to provide a sullen "Mm?"

"I see that you have a little sister. Chell. Can you tell us about her?"

I blink. It's a funny question, and I don't really see how it's any of their business. I also notice that the interviewer's long-lashed eyes are narrowed forbiddingly, and it suddenly occurs to me that I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing; that I'm all along, far from home, surrounded by people who are eager to see me die screaming.

I scowl.

"She's five. She has a bad leg."

"That's all? That's really all you can tell us about your only sibling?" the interviewer simpers, baring his blindingly white teeth in a predatory grin. I glare at him as hard as I can, tensing subconsciously, even though that can't help me here. I am _not_ the prey.

"Yes."

"Well, what's her favorite color? Her favorite food?"

I realize that I don't know. I also realize what he's doing: he's setting me up as the bad guy, the one who the Capitol viewers will _really _want to see go down. And the Gamemakers' job is to make the viewers happy.

"Purple," I snap. "Blueberries." I have no idea, actually. Chell and my parents won't have appreciated that, but I refuse to lose any chance I might have this early on. They'd be willing to deal with it if it meant I came home.

Right?

**District Ten- Whitfield "Whit" Vachel, 14**

I make a point of paying attention as the interviews continue. It can't hurt to scope out the competition, after all, although I don't really like thinking about the other kids like that. I _can_. I just don't like to. Not yet.

The Three girl tries to crack jokes, but the interviewer obviously isn't a fan of her sarcasm, so she comes off a little flat. Her District partner is even worse, staring at his shoes the whole time. Venesse, the Four girl, isn't much better. The Four boy is a typical Career, fierce and harsh. I sigh. What must go on inside his head?

Not much, at a rough guess, I think with a smirk. If I could talk to him, I could probably get him to kill everyone but me, then sneak up behind him and hit him over the head with a big stick. Too bad that won't be an option in the Games, because he'd run me through on sight. Or possible shatter my skull, break my neck… something along those times. I frown and decide to think about something else for a while.

More interviews pass, and then my name is called. I troop up to the stage, fixing a bright smile on my face. The interviewer smiles back, and I think it might be genuine. No wonder. The Nines were a disaster. The girl was obviously nervous, and the boy seemed to be carrying a vendetta against the world at large. He, I think, would be harder to manipulate the Four boy, although I bet he could give him a run for his money in a fair fight.

I shake the interviewer's hand warmly, happy that I decided not to go with a specific angle. There's no way I'd have actually maintained it. The stage is lit uncomfortably brightly, and I'm constantly aware of the thousands– millions, really– of eyes on me right now.

"So, Whit, I understand that you work on a cattle farm with your father. Is it fun?"

Fun? That's a strange thing to ask. I consider it. "It's not bad. Better when I'm not getting chased around by a bull, though. I have a knack for ticking them off."

The oddly androgynous interviewer grins. "And have they ever caught you?"

I decide to take a chance. "Well, I'm sitting here talking to you, aren't I? What do _you_ think?"

Thankfully, the man laughs. "Fair enough. How does one go about provoking a bull, anyway?"

"Hypothetically? Well, if one were to, say, go into the bull pen on a dare– hypothetically, of course– and stick one's tongue out at the bulls while waving a blanket around, that could do the trick."

"They sound touchy."

"Oh, very," I say enthusiastically. "Not nearly as touchy as some of the prep teams, though. I thought they were going to knock me out when I sneezed while they were dressing me for tonight. Apparently I made them ruin my hair."

This time the interviewer laughs out loud. "And you do look handsome!"

"Why thank you!" I say, gesturing at the black pants, white blazer, and spectacular cow-print tie that have been inflicted on me. "I feel like quite the stud."

It takes the Capitol a good few seconds to get the subtle, albeit dirty, joke. They howl with laughter. I regret it instantly, suddenly feeling decidedly uncomfortable and hoping desperately that the interviewer won't latch onto this new direction.

He seems to sense it, and I'm thankful that he's on my side, not out to get me like some of the other tributes. "Any siblings, then? I presume you know what their favorite colors are?"

… Such as that one. I can't help glancing toward the front row, but the audience is hidden by the shadows, concealing the Nine boy's reaction to the dig at him. Not that I can't guess. A scowl, a glare, or both. I feel awful for his District partner. She seems friendly. That won't help here, though.

The rest of the interview goes well enough, but something inside me is slowly sinking the entire time. When I finally step from the stage, I feel dazed. Depressed, almost, except since when do I get depressed? And I have no idea why. Aside from the obvious, that is.

**District Eleven- Lupe Pelletier, 12**

I can't help laughing during the Five girl's interview. Miriam, her name is. She's funny, in an odd sort of way. I think she's missed the point of the interview.

"How do you feel about the Hunger Games?"

She cocks her head to the side thoughtfully. "Don't know. How do _you_ feel? Being from the Capitol? I've never really heard one of your opinions."

The interviewer tries again. "Is there anyone at home you miss?"

"Don't we all?" she shrugs. "What about you? Are you married? Do you have kids? Ooh, what if the Capitol were part of the Games and they got reaped and you had to interview them?" she muses. "Would you do it?"

The interviewer's relief is evident when she finally leaves the stage.

Her District partner is far less cooperative. I don't really think he's paying attention. He seems sad. It amazes me that he can relax on that high stage, spotlights beaming down. I already know that I'm going to be completely tongue-tied. I'm so nervous I almost feel sick.

Rosaline throws me a reassuring glance as the Six girl takes the stage. I gulp and nod, but I'm still terrified. It's stupid, I know. Nobody's going to hurt me. Yet. But I can't look at a Capitol citizen without seeing that Peacekeeper. I genuinely thought I was going to die while he was whipping me. And just when it was finally over… This.

I bite my lip and rub the back of my shoulder automatically. Even the Capitol stylists couldn't quite erase the scars, not that fast. It drove my prep team insane. Not the fact that I'd been whipped, of course; the fact that they couldn't make me look absolutely perfect. My hand balls into a fist for a moment. But my fear dampens my anger a few seconds later, and besides, my back still burns when I tense my muscles. They did everything they could to fix my skin, but they didn't bother with anything else, and I'm probably going to die because of it.

"Odontophobia is the fear of teeth."

My head shoots up, and I see the Six girl, Cordelia I think, fixing the interviewer with an earnest, expectant look. He frowns.

"Are you odontophobic?"

"No." He doesn't seem to have anything to say to that.

Alexis, the Six boy, is next. He looks tired, almost exhausted, but his expression is perfectly neutral.

"Do you have any concern for your fellow tributes' survival?"

"The survival of my fellow tributes is a large concern indeed," the boy deadpans, although I'm fairly sure I see the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. A few people in the audience snicker, but I think the morbid joke flies over most of their heads. I suspect, though, that he meant even more by it than I got.

A few more interviews pass, and then Rosaline is called. I shrink deeper into my chair as she leaves hers. I think the Twelve girl to my left is as terrified to talk to me as I am to talk to her, but the Ten boy is trying to make eye contact now that Rosaline isn't occupying the spot between us. I avoid it, with no clear idea why.

All too soon, it's my turn. Rosaline gives me another encouraging nod as she passes me on the stairs. I try to return it, but I feel like I'm about to pass out.

The interviewer scowls grumpily as I stumble onstage. I've barely sat down, perching nervously on the very edge of the too-high chair, when he fires off a question that I'm completely unprepared for.

"You had quite an eventful Reaping. Would you like to tell us about that?"

Well… no, I think. Of course not. I want to forget about it completely, because between bring whipped and being reaped, I'd never been so terrified in my life. I honestly think I haven't quite recovered. I was never this scared before, and now I jump at my own shadow.

I stare at the interviewer like a deer in headlights. "It… hurt?" I say stupidly.

He gives me another frown, like I've disappointed him somehow, and another small, hot tongue of anger curls through me. "And the whipping was ordered by your District partner's father, was it not? Have there been any issues between the two of you about that?"

I shoot a helpless look toward where I think Rosaline is, but it's too dark to see through the blinding spotlights. "No, she… she tried to help. I think? I don't really remember that well," I mumble.

"Hmm," he says, raising an eyebrow. "And what were you being punished for, anyway? Stealing, I believe? Why would you ever want to steal food from the Capitol? You live in the agriculture District!" He gives a booming laugh. The audience, who had begun hissing and muttering when he mentioned my crime, laugh along with him.

I'm torn between fury and disbelief, staring at the floorboards between us and wishing someone would help me. I've never hated anyone this much in my life. I wish he was going to be in the arena with me. I would kill him.

Instantly, I'm disgusted with myself, and terrified that they have the power to make me think like that. I finally realize just how helpless I am.

The buzzer goes off. I practically run off the stage.

**District 12- Caston Marks, 13**

I tap my finger on the chair's arm as my interview looms closer. The Seven girl is onstage now, running circles around the interviewer. It's funny, but I think the audience is a bit frustrated by her.

"Wait, so… you're saying you burned the school down, or saved it from being burned?" the man asks, scratching his lemon-yellow hair in confusion.

Everlay thinks for a moment. "Yes," she finally chirps, to the audience's dismay.

Her District partner, Keadon, is a bit easier on the poor man. I hope I never have to fight him, but still, I'd prefer him to the Careers. He's muscular, but he's not nearly as mean. At least he doesn't seem like it. I play close attention nonetheless, remembering every detail every tribute says. You never know what will come in handy. I've already got a fairly extensive repertoire of knowledge that the other tributes would probably be quite dismayed to know I possess. Luster, I can tell, is either afflicted by migraines or is unstable. She closes her eyes and winces every few minutes, and somehow I doubt District One would have sent a headache-afflicted Career into the Games, so I suspect that it's the latter. Sol, too, isn't nearly as fierce as he'd like people to believe.

Lithe is playing an act, but she's barely trying; everyone has to know that she's a killer. I think Talon is capable of doing whatever's necessary, but he doesn't strike me as nearly as cruel. Annie was difficult to read. Unlike Chord, who, I think, is just scared. Venesse is clearly frightened, although I think she's fairly intelligent. Mika, on the other hand, seems to be just dumb muscle. Forest is distracted by something, and I don't think he has any intention of returning home. Miriam hates him. He doesn't care. She, I think, is better at picking up on subtleties than I am, but I doubt she remembers everything she learns. It occurs to me to ask her for an alliance, but I know I'm far too shy to actually do it.

I don't think Cordelia is insane. Just strange. She never knows what to say, kind of like me. The thought instantly reminds me that I have to do an interview of my own soon, and I shove it from my mind, continuing my assessment of the tributes onstage.

There's something decidedly off about Alexis, although I can't tell whether it's true malice or just a slightly dark sense of humor. Namitha plays the ditzy girl, but she's no fool either.

Suede practically bounds onstage, grinning like a loon, and I wonder what he's got up his sleeve.

"Would you mind telling us why you volunteered?" the interviewer asks. "It's been a topic of hot debate here in the Capitol."

The boy's smile wavers for a split second, but he recovers impressively quickly. "Well, I didn't have any plans for the next few weeks," he shrugs.

"I see. A way to kill time."

The audience groans good-naturedly, but Suede grins. "Ah. I see what you did there," he says with a conspiratorial smirk.

The interview continues in largely the same vein, segueing into Ophelia's friendly-but-shy session, Jaegar's disastrous turn on stage, Ari's less-than-subtle digs at both the Careers and the Capitol, until finally Anne is called.

I pay close attention. Even though I've spent the most time with her, Anne is the one tribute I just can't quite figure out. I don't think she's unintelligent, even though everyone else seems to, but she talks even less than I do.

The interview isn't exactly revealing. She stares at her feet the whole time, answering questions with a few words. I think they're amplifying her voice more than usual to make it audible.

And far too soon, it's my turn. I manage to climb the steps without tripping, but find myself unable to meet the interviewer's silver eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Caston."

"Um, you too?" I say hesitantly. I think he rolls his eyes.

"So is there anyone missing you back home? Family? Friends? Girlfriend?"

I almost laugh out loud at the idea of nerdy, scrawny me having a girlfriend. "My parents," I say, "And my twin sister Gardenia." It's not really a satisfactory answer, but he's going to have to work with it, because it's all I've got.

I get the distinct feeling that the interviewer wants a drink right now. I don't blame him. I would too. Of course, I'd be more concerned with the fact that all but one of the kids I was talking to was doomed than the fact that they weren't particularly good at being interviewed, but I suppose it's all relative.

I struggle through the rest of the interview, coming up with boring answers, until I'm half expecting him to just give up and ask me what my favorite subject in school is or something. But finally the buzzer goes off. I sigh in relief. It's over.

Which means it's about to begin.


	12. It Gets Dusky

**Well, here we go again.**

_Among creatures born into chaos, a majority will imagine an order, a minority will question the order, and the rest will be pronounced insane. –Robert Brault_

**Venesse Elvane, District 4, 15**

I close my eyes, cowering as my platform rises into the arena. I don't want to see what I'm surrounded by. Tributes, I know. Big and strong, small and weak… I don't know which is worse.

But I only have a minute. I have to open my eyes before the gong goes off. Trying to "play" the Hunger Games blind wouldn't be the smartest thing I've ever done. Although at least it would be over. But even though my heart is thudding in my chest and I feel like I'm going to be sick, I can't think like that. I imagine poor Kane, sitting at home watching this. I have to be brave, even though he knows perfectly well that I'm not.

I open my eyes.

And scratch my head, blinking and looking around. I _am_ in the right place, right? Did they move my platform somewhere different by accident or something? That would be excellent.

I can't see any tributes. I can barely see anything. I swipe some rough brown hair behind my ear, turning in a full circle and wondering what's going on. I'm in a forest, I think. Or at least the direction I'm facing now is a forest. On my other side, I can sort of make out the ground getting squishier and the trees growing twisted and stunted, roots clasped precariously on little islands of soil in a sea of dark, depressing swamp.

The Cornucopia has to be that way. Right? That's where I was facing at first. It has to be. But I'm not sure that's where I want to go. The swamp looks frankly terrifying, and what will I find there? The Bloodbath, of course. And my alliance. Fan_tas_tic. I imagine Mika pacing around the golden horn, peering into the marsh and waiting for me to come stumbling out. Not that he'd be there yet, since the gong hasn't rung, but it's a likely scenario in the near future.

The gong rings. I yelp reflexively, then clap a hand over my mouth, struggling not to think about what it means. I do anyway. The woods seem colder and meaner, and I feel something like panic rising in my chest. I want to run away. Back to District Four, or farther maybe. Anywhere but here, with the swamp and Mika and I just_know_ there's a mutt behind me _right now–_

I whirl. No mutt. Surprise.

Get a grip, I tell myself with a scowl. You have a tiny chance of survival. Accept that you're going to die. That way you have nothing to lose, and nothing to be scared of.

I blink, pleased with my own advice. Then, of course, I realize that even if I do decide I'm totally okay with dying, there's still how it happens to be worried about. Drowning in the swamp. Starving over the course of days. Ripped apart by mutts. And of course there's Lithe to worry about.

The background noises of the forest behind me and swamp in front of me seem to swell, pressuring me to make a decision. Alone, or Careers? Alone, or Careers?

There's a snapping sound behind me.

Careers it is.

**Caston Marks, District 12, 13**

Step. Another step. So far, so good.

I don't really know where I'm going. Not toward the Cornucopia, hopefully. But I know I need to get away from my circle. I'm sure they're set out in some kind of pattern, most likely a larger circle, meaning that the first place the Careers will check is the area surrounding them. Which, in turn, means that I need to not be there.

I hike along the border of the swamp and the forest, casting wary glances in either direction. It's unlikely that anything will attack me yet, but I'd prefer not to be taken by surprise. Not that there'd be much I could do about it anyway, of course.

On a whim, I step toward a pile of branches that are lying on the ground like the top of a pine tree was knocked down by a storm. I snap off the biggest stick I can carry comfortably, wincing as the _crack_ echoes through my silent surroundings. I definitely need to move. A sound like that could carry for miles in this type of terrain.

I take another careful step forward, gripping my impromptu weapon. A flash of movement in the trees ahead of me makes me freeze. Movement is bad. Anything that can move can kill me. Anything that can't move can probably kill me too, but still.

Is it gone? I crane my neck, squinting between the trunks. Nothing. Just eerie, spectral mist twining between the trees. That must have been what I saw.

I start forward again, my own heartbeat seeming painfully loud. I wouldn't be surprised if every tribute within a quarter mile could hear it. But there's obviously no one around, because if there were, they'd have killed me by now. So why do I still feel on the verge of panic?

The fog itself seems malevolent. Staring into it, I see tributes, mutts, traps… and I know I'm going to die. It's more than acceptance, it's certainty. I don't _have_ to accept it. It's true.

Then why am I still terrified? It will all be over soon. I can just stand here and wait for death. It'll be just like falling asleep, I tell myself. It probably won't hurt.

A figure steps from the fog. I don't even look up.

**Sol Ignis, District 1, 16**

I curse bad-temperedly as a glop of mud hits me in the face. This wasn't in the job description. Death and destruction, yes. Swamps, no.

Bulling my way through several small trees that should have messed with a different tribute, it occurs to me that I could be going in completely the wrong direction. I had assumed that they would have set me in the arena facing the Cornucopia, but I could be wrong. It seems like I've been fighting through this swamp for hours. I can only hope that the lighter Careers will get there before me and fight the other tributes off, because I'm not really getting anywhere, my weight dragging me down into the miry ground. I elect not to think about the fact that I could probably sink and never be seen again. The Gamemakers, I'm sure, can control how soft the mud is, and they'd never let a Career die a boring death like that two seconds in. At least I hope not.

Finally there's a glint of light through the trees. I stomp toward it, scowling as more mud lands in my red hair. Even though I'm in the Hunger Games, all I really want right now is a shower. Which, somehow, I doubt will be forthcoming.

I pause at the edge of the shadowy forest, pleased with myself for actually thinking to check the situation before running straight into it for once in my life. It's still pretty dark, the sky dusky and overcast, but it's better than in the swamp.

The undergrowth stretches away on both sides, swooping around to form what I extrapolate to be a ring maybe a quarter of a mile wide. I assume that this is the center of the arena. I almost laugh when I see what the clearing is filled with.

Directly in front of me is an abandoned carnival, so deliberately creepy as to be completely ridiculous. There's a good-sized pond a decent ways off to my left– murky and mysterious, of course– and a graveyard to my right.

Huh.

Although the atmosphere itself can't scare me, I know not to take anything in the arena lightly. Doubtless any of it can kill me if I make a wrong move. But I decide to bank on the fact that the Gamemaker's won't want me dead quite yet. I shoot through the carnival, making sure to stay directly in the middle of the path and keep my guard up, but nothing happens.

At least until a shadowy figure darts across my peripheral vision. I whip toward it, and find myself facing a cardboard cutout of a clown. I jump reflexively, then immediately scowl. Gamemakers, 1. Sol, 0.

I punch the clown as hard as I can. It cracks in half and falls, but all I see behind it is a few more rides. The shadow had to be a tribute. I think. I hope. They wouldn't set mutts on me this early.

Out of nowhere, the thought of giant spider mutts crosses my mind. I gulp, glancing over my shoulder and half-expecting to find myself facing eight glowing red eyes. But there's nothing there. Well, nothing aside from another clown, a plastic statue this time. It's smiling cheerily, but has those unnerving eyes, the kind that follow you. Good thing I'm not afraid of clowns, I think, backing away without taking my eyes off it. Not a bit. Can't scare me.

My back hits something. I turn. And surprise, surprise. It's another fake clown.

"Fuckshitdamnhell," I mutter to myself, deciding that discretion is the better part of valor. Besides, I've probably missed the whole damn Bloodbath by now. In fact, I should probably run to the Cornucopia. Right now. Not because I'm afraid of this carnival, of course. Because I need to find my alliance. Yeah. That's it.

I turn on my heel and take off toward the center of the arena. Sure enough, I can hear yelps and clangs coming from behind a few run-down game booths. The Cornucopia comes into view as soon as I duck behind them. There's still a wrought-iron fence between the other tributes and I, but I can clearly see what's going on. The overcast, stormy sky makes it difficult to see faces, but I can still largely pick out who's who based on build. I'm pretty sure I'm the first Career, but several smaller, lighter tributes have beaten me here. Which, I realize with dismayed resignation, means it's up to me to fight them off until the other Careers show up.

I vault the fence easily and bull straight toward the Cornucopia, reasonably confident that the element of surprise will buy me a few seconds. Interestingly, the fastest tributes seem to be the boys from Nine, Ten, and Eleven. But the Six boy breaks the trend a second later, running straight past me. I'm pretty sure he came from directly behind me, over the same fence, which would explain the shadow I saw. He picks up a knife and a backpack. I grab a pair of long, slim daggers and dive after him, but he's already out of my reach, and I don't feel particularly inclined to chase him.

The Ten boy hightails it across a muddy field that covers the space between the Cornucopia and the swamp opposite the carnival. The Eleven boy darts a few feet away from me, then hesitates, clearly unsure of what to do. I should attack him. But I can't help feeling awful. The kid's tiny, probably under a hundred pounds.

Fortunately, the Nine boy gives me a reasonable excuse not to do so, namely by lunging at me with what appears to be a hunting knife. I'm slightly puzzled as to why. He's already got his weapon; what more does he want? A fight, apparently. Works for me, I think with a mental shrug.

**Jaeger Cline, District 9, 16**

I keep forgetting, I think ruefully as the knife slashes down my arm, that humans are smarter than wild dogs. Slightly.

I wonder who else will show up to this optional Bloodbath. All the Careers, definitely. Probably not anyone else, meaning I'll have to hunt all of them down. Which I could get started on if this Career would just _move_ and let me get to the rope and bow behind him.

I dodge backward as his second knife darts toward my stomach, scowling. Well, wild animals fight with both forelimbs, too. It's nothing I'm not used to. But he's not used to people who are used to it. He was treating our fight like it was nothing at first, but now he's getting pissed. I am too, actually. All I want are those goddamned weapons.

Finally, he steps just an inch too far to his right. I dive past him, seizing the bow, quiver, and coil of rope, then whirling back to the mouth of the Cornucopia. Fortunately for me, he overcompensated when he tried to catch me, and it still trying to catch his balance. I slip past him again, realizing for the first time just how easily he could have cornered me inside the Cornucopia itself. I scowl, resolving not to make such a stupid mistake again.

The pond and the wrought-iron fence look less than inviting. I run in the direction of the graveyard, knowing that the boy won't follow me, since other tributes have started to arrive. They won't bother me either. I'm armed. They're not. Still, I duck behind a massive tombstone when the Twos lope into view from the swamp. Advantage or not, I'm not confident that I can take both of them at once. Dead yellow grass jabs my hands and tickles my nose. It doesn't quite have that dusty, straw-like smell I expect it to, and I frown. A tiny familiarity would have been nice.

I can hear the girl complaining about mud on her clothes as they pass me, but by the time it occurs to me to shoot her in the back, there are too many tombstones between us. I straighten up again, swinging my knife and knocking a few chips of pale green lichen from the tombstone.

I have no idea why, but I'm strangely tempted to just stay here. A warm, humid wind ruffles my hair, rippling through the already flattened, matted grass covering the soaked ground. The ominous clouds in the sky seem frozen in time, completely motionless, lighting the golden horn a few hundred feet in front of me with a dull purple tint. Even the sound of fighting from the Cornucopia seems muted from here.

And just as quickly, I snap out of it. I have to keep my focus. I notice that the District Threes have joined the fray, along with the Seven boy, Eleven girl, Ten girl, Four boy… now tributes are coming from every direction, although there definitely aren't twenty-four. I sneer as I imagine Ophelia deliberately running toward the center of the arena. No chance. She probably hasn't left her circle yet.

I finally remember that there's a forest on the other side of the swamp, most likely forming the very outer layer of the arena. That's where I need to be.

I cast one last scornful look at the Cornucopia, then stomp toward the marsh.

**Rosaline Hargrove, District 11, 15**

Keadon sticks his head out of the muddy undergrowth at precisely the same time I do.

"Hey," he says breathlessly, attempting unsuccessfully to shake mud from his hair.

I mutter a distracted reply, craning my neck and trying to see what's going on at the Cornucopia. Keadon does the same.

"Aw, hell," he groans.

I see it a moment later. Lupe is standing alone between a few pairs of fighting tributes, turning on the spot, clearly trying to figure out where we are. But he's looking in completely the wrong direction right now. At first, I think we have some time, because the only Career there has his hands full with the Nine boy. Then the Nine boy darts away, and the Career steps toward Lupe.

"Lupe!" I scream at the top of my voice, fully aware that it will bring the attention of every Career and mutt in the arena on Keadon and I. Somehow, I know Keadon won't blame me.

Lupe whips toward us and takes off. The Career returns to the mouth of the Cornucopia, and I get the distinct feeling that he hadn't been particularly enthusiastic about killing such a little kid anyway.

Unlike Lithe, who comes flying out of nowhere. She grins wickedly, hitting Lupe savagely across the face with her forearm and sending him reeling to the ground. Her gloating expression is clearly visible as she drives her knee into his chest, looking around for a weapon.

Keadon and I glance at each other. We're clearly in agreement. We sprint across the field as fast as we can, boots squelching in the omnipresent mud. The Cornucopia isn't far, but that might not be good enough. From a hundred feet away, I can hear Lithe imperiously ordering her District partner to get her something sharp while she keeps Lupe pinned down.

Suddenly, she screams, hopping backward and clutching her ankle. I want to cheer as Lupe jumps to his feet, a red-stained knife glinting in his hand. But the Career recovers fast, lunging forward to cut him off as the boy returns from the Cornucopia with a sword in each hand. Keadon and I are both unarmed. I have no idea what we're thinking, but we don't even slow down.

Keadon runs straight into Lithe, both of them crashing to the ground. The Two boy towers over Lupe, who looks up at me, wide hazel eyes filled with guilt and panic. I can tell he blames himself for putting us in danger. I don't really fault him, though. I would have frozen up, too.

Keadon has Lithe pinned down, although I don't know how long it will last. He's significantly bigger, but she's absolutely furious, attacking him with nails and wince-worthy shrieks. Meanwhile, Lupe is cowering between the Two boy and I. What's his name? Talon, I think. He has two swords. I'm unarmed. What do I do?

I can see the hesitation in his eyes. Lithe screams at him to kill us, raking her nails across Keadon's face. I consider the situation, and am suddenly struck by an absolutely brilliant plan.

"RUN!" I yell.

The boys seem only too glad to go along with it. In fact, they haul out so fast that Keadon has to grab my arm and pull me after him so I'm not left in the dust. Or mud, I guess. For a moment I think Lithe is going to chase us, but there are still fights going on, so she settles for a venomous glare. The huge Four boy has the Three girl by the arm, and the Ten girl, Ari, is trying unsuccessfully to dodge past the One boy. I can't decide which of them looks angrier.

Then we reach the edge of the field and stumble into the swamp, and I can't see anymore. Vines brush against my face, leaving a cold, unpleasant slime behind. I can barely see Keadon's curly hair in front of me as he carefully steps on the firmest pieces of ground. Even then, his boots sink above the ankle. Lupe slinks along next to me, his head hanging sheepishly.

"Sorry," he says softly. "I should've…"

Keadon turns, shooting a bright smile through the darkness. "Eh, we lived," he says with a shrug I can barely see in the humid darkness.

"Don't worry about it," I agree. "And besides, we have a knife now. We're better off than we would've been if you hadn't done it, and anyway, we probably never would've found you."

Lupe sighs quietly and rubs the back of his shoulder unconsciously. This time I'm the one who feels guilty. I should have tried harder to convince my dad to let him go. I should have just attacked the Peacekeeper. It's not like either of us could be worse off than we are now. He hasn't said anything, but I can tell his back still hurts him a lot. And now the poor kid's cheek and jaw have started to turn purple where Lithe hit him, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn she cracked a few of his ribs, too. I scowl angrily. I'd love to get her for that. Too bad she'd kill me in two seconds if we ever ran into each other.

"So, uh… now what?" I ask, more to break the silence than anything else. Neither of the boys is particularly talkative, and I think they're both hoping the other will say something, because neither does.

"We should find water," Keadon finally says. "With this much mud, there must be a stream or something around here somewhere."

I'm about to agree with him when the sound of a cannon shudders through the swamp, making us wince in unison. One blast. Two… three…

Three? That's all? I feel horrible about the fact that I'm a bit disappointed. Twenty-one tributes still in the arena. I suppose the distance between the Cornucopia and our circles accounts for it; most of the tributes didn't even try to go for the supplies. But some did. And some of them died, and I have no idea who.

**Mika Jensoll, District 4, 18**

I growl angrily as the trio escapes across the field. It doesn't matter that much, I tell myself. They're no threat. But I'm still angry.

I turn my attention back to my immediate surroundings. The Cornucopia has gone largely quiet. Which is completely unacceptable, damn it, because no one is dead.

I finally remember that I'm still holding onto the Three girl's arm, which calms me down a bit. We'll have one death, at least. I glance at her thoughtfully, deciding how to do it. She tries to glare back, but she's shaking. I grin.

"Fuck you," she snarls.

I breathe out hard through my nose, amused. I'm happy she's not a total coward. That would be… I don't know. Not what I had in mind, I guess.

I throw her to the ground easily, raising my sword and allowing her some time to scramble backwards. It's all very cinematic. The Capitol will love it.

And I'm just about to deliver the killing blow when something slams solidly into my side, knocking the wind out of me. I double over, gasping for breath, and notice Chord Tykee of all people staring at me. He has the quintessential _oh shit _look on his face.

Well, he'd damn well _better._

I straighten up, hissing through my teeth. Sol and the Twos look on impassively as I reach out and grab Chord's collar, hefting my sword with my free hand.

Oh, wait. Final one-liner. I wrack my brain.

"You," I say softly, "are an awful Career." It's a little lame, but it will have to do. I ram my sword underneath his ribs, ripping it upward and deliberately splattering blood on his District partner. She gapes silently, her head bobbing like she's going to be sick. I throw Chord aside and raise my sword with a smirk.

"Hey, no," Lithe protests. "You have to share!"

I blink. "Um, what?"

"Aw, c'mon, Miky," she purrs. "Let me kill her. Please?"

This time I'm the one who's lost for words. Miky? Why the hell does she need to call me Miky? That's not badass. That's the opposite of badass.

"Fine. Whatever," I snap, backing off. "Just don't call me that."

"Okay, Miky." Lithe struts forward, inspecting the long, painfully thin knife she's decided is her favorite. The Three girl gulps and tries to scramble to her feet, but Lithe kicks her back down.

I notice Venesse for the first time. She's sitting in the mouth of the Cornucopia, as filthy as any of us. Her eyes are squeezed firmly shut, and her fingers are jammed in her ears.

I glance up just in time to see Lithe ram the knife into the girl's leg. Even I wince at her shriek. Sol and Talon throw each other dubious glances, and for once, their show of camaraderie doesn't piss me off. In fact, as a second scream pierces the air, I wouldn't mind a bit of moral support myself.

Lithe starts taunting the girl. I decide there and then that I want nothing to do with her in the romance department. I don't care how hot she is. _Hell _to the no.

The Three girl is brave, refusing to rise to Lithe's bait. In fact, it's Sol who cracks first.

"Quit it," he says flatly, stepping forward and grabbing Lithe's arm. The knife hovers an inch from her victim's skin.

Lithe whips toward him, growling deep in her throat. She looks absolutely demented. "Let go of me or it'll be you," she snarls furiously.

Sol leans back, his expression somewhere between indignation and real fear, but he doesn't let her go. He doesn't notice Lithe switching her knife into the hand he's not holding. Well, not until she slashes his arm. He yelps and jumps backwards, clutching the cut. Blood leaks through his fingers. I think I hear a little squeak from Venesse.

Lithe forgets Sol almost instantly, turning her attention back toward the now-bloody girl on the ground. I'm pretty sure she's unconscious. I learn that I'm wrong when Lithe runs the knife across her face, drawing a muted groan.

I risk a glance at Sol. He looks disgusted and furious, seemingly unconcerned about the blood dripping from his fingertips. Another cut. Another groan. He lunges forward, this time abandoning all subtlety. Lithe is sent flying. Sol's knife thuds into the Three girl's heart.

Three cannon blasts rend the air. All of us but Lithe glance at each other in confusion.

"Who was the third?" Talon asks.

"Twelve guy," says a voice behind me. I turn to see Luster striding from among the gravestones, a creepy little smirk on her face.

"How'd you find a weapon?" I ask.

The smirk widens. "Didn't need one."

Sol is the only one who seems to have the slightest clue what's going on. "Um… Luster? Is this what you were talking about on the elevator?"

Luster blinks. "I'm Dusk."

Sol and Talon exchange another round of the-world-has-gone-mad-hasn't-it glances. Yet again, I don't blame them. Elevator? What?

I notice that Lithe is staring at Sol with an expression of pure, utter malice. There's no doubt in my mind that he'll regret what he did, even though I have to admit I respect him for it. Not nearly enough to save him when Lithe inevitably makes him pay, of course, but still.


	13. Cynical Bastard

_There are now electrical appliances with the main unit so sealed in that it cannot be got at for repair. There have always been human beings like that. ~Mignon McLaughlin, _The Neurotic's Notebook_, 1960_

**Forest Hale, District 5, 17**

I'm the opposite of surprised when it starts raining. Unsurprised, in fact. Perfectly unsurprised, caught completely on-guard. Or freed completely on-guard, I guess. What? Huh. Sure.

Two seconds after the cannons fire, I find myself caught in a total downpour. Except that I'm not caught, because I could get away from it if I want to. I just don't. So maybe I'm caught after all, because if I can't find the necessary willpower to stand up and move ten feet under the cover of the trees, it's obviously impossible for me to do so. There. Trapped already.

I breathe out hard through my nose, shaking my head halfheartedly. I don't really mind the water. It'd be sort of stupid to, in the long run. _Oh look, big guy coming at me with a spear. Dammit, my hair's wet. I'll just let him kill me._ It's not that great of a thought process. Is it? All bets are off in the Games, I guess. If the goal is to die happy, which I'm not that sure about, maybe worrying about hair is a good way to do it. That would be a nice last thought to have. _I guess it's okay that my hair's messed up, after all. No big deal._ Nice and peaceful. Nothing to worry about.

If I could get myself stressed out about my hair anyway, which I doubt I could do if I tried. Although Deli's probably furious. I sort of wish she were here, even if it_would_ mean she'd probably be dead in a few days. I don't need moral support, but I wouldn't mind getting laid before I die.

I smirk, stretching and opening my eyes. I curse and close them again immediately when a when a fat raindrop hits me smack in the eye. The image of the fading sky stays burned on the insides of my eyelids. It's faded from lilac to a darker violet over the past few hours, the gold tints vanishing. It's oddly pretty, in an ominous sort of way, although I'm not willing to get hit in the eye with rain just to stare at some clouds. If I could see the stars, maybe. Although if I _could_ see the stars it'd be impossible for there to be clouds, so it's a moot point.

I can feel myself starting to get drowsy. Falling asleep in the open like this would be asking to get killed. I sort of like the idea of getting killed in a graveyard– irony, or something like it– but getting killed in my sleep, not so much. Dull. And whoever did it could just pretend I was already dead, and it's very difficult to wrack oneself with guilt over killing a dead man. Not that I would know. I couldn't even imagine.

Feeling guilty, I mean.

I grip the edge of a tombstone and pull myself to my feet, swaying slightly as all the blood rushes from my head. It's gotten almost completely dark by now, and the vertigo-induced fuzziness in my vision isn't helping. I don't really know where to go. I have exactly zero supplies and weapons, and now that I'm thinking about it I'm pretty thirsty, and hungry too. No chance of getting supplies from the Cornucopia, of course. There has to be something in the arena. But where do I go?

Probably _not_ in the direction of the two shadowy figures prowling toward me from the direction of the Career camp. I freeze instinctively. I don't think they know I'm here. They definitely wouldn't expect anyone to be this stupid. But they're heading straight toward me. I could probably make it into the swamp before they got to me, but what would I do then? If I duck they might miss me, I guess, but I'd be completely screwed if they didn't. It's a long shot either way. Run or hide? Run or hide?

Or die, of course. Already, though? Fourth man down? That won't do.

But it might have to, because in the time I've spent mentally chasing myself in circles the Careers have gotten way closer. The blonde girl nudges the big guy, gesturing at me silently with some kind of weapon.

A pox upon that pale-hearted harpy.

They both sprint straight for me, and it occurs to me that since hiding is no longer an option, the decision has been made for me. I turn tail and run.

"Corner him," the girl's voice says quietly. I hear the boy's footsteps pound at a tangent to the left. He'll run a curve and cut me off before I can make it into the swamp. I scowl and change course, jinking to the side and darting toward the iron fence separating the carnival from the graveyard.

"Fuckshitdamnhell," a deep voice growls exasperatedly. The girl doesn't make a sound, and I'm not sure where she is, but it doesn't really matter. It's a relatively short sprint to the fence. I notice for the first time that it's topped with decorative spearpoints, nearly invisible against the sky. Curses.

I hesitate slightly as I draw toward it, uncomfortably aware of the Career boy lurking off to my left, directly between the woods and myself. Death by fence would be a particularly stupid way to go.

I feel the very tip of a blade nick my back, accompanied by a frustrated hiss. I instantly revise my assessment of the situation. Death by fence would be very unsatisfactory, but it beats death by fourteen-year-old. Before I can think about it, I throw myself forward, leaping onto a tombstone level with my waist and using the momentum to launch myself over the fence. I land on my feet, one hand on the ground. For a moment, I completely forget that I'm being chased, since I'm far too preoccupied with being decidedly pleased with myself. That probably looked pretty good on TV.

The sound of the Career boy's weight thudding to the ground snaps me out of it. I sigh and take off again, trying to ignore the nasty feeling that they're faster than me. Soon, it's not just a nasty feeling. The girl's sword whooshes through the air again, probably missing my leg by inches. _Now_ what? I can hear the boy panting, but I'm not exactly full of energy myself.

And before I can figure out what to do, there's a white-hot slash of pain across my calf. I tumble to the ground with a yelp, utterly furious. This is so… mundane. Killed by a Career's sword on day one? That's as average as it gets. I try to scramble upright, but the boy's hand seizes my shoulder, throwing me onto my back. The girl raises her sword over my chest.

She's going to kill me? Just like that? I can't help feeling a bit miffed. In the most non-masochistic way possible, I'd sort of been hoping I could at least have a slow death. That would catch people's attention. But no. Of course not.

Although, I muse, staring past the blade at the purple-bruised black sky as she lowers the point to touch my chest, maybe I don't mind so much after all. The sword is significantly sharper than I had anticipated.

I'm not ready for this. Not even close. I don't _get _it yet. Not yet. I don't want to disappear.

To my dismay, my heart thuds in my chest. I'm pretty sure the girl can tell. Her lips curve into a predatory smile, and I think my previous lack of fear had been ruining her mood a bit. But I'm not scared. So why is my breath catching in my throat?

**Miriam Mefluia, District 5, 13**

Cordelia and I creep through the carnival, keeping a wary eye on the unnerving fake clowns that seem to fill it.

"'Dreamt' is the only word in the English language that ends in 'mt'," Cordelia whispers as we slip around the corner of a game booth. I consider it. I can't think of any others.

I grin. I like Cordelia. She's just as awkward as I am. I think she just wants to be accepted. She doesn't pick people apart like I do. I wish I could do that. Maybe people are better when you look at them as a whole.

We stop in the shadow of the Ferris wheel's control booth. I can see the little stand inside that controls the ride. I wonder whether it would still run. But I know it would be a bad idea to find out.

My stomach growls. Cordelia gives a small smile, pointing silently to another game booth. This one has bags of chips and cotton candy hanging from its awning, along with toys and stuffed animals. It's the single unhealthiest panorama I've seen since a Capitol meal. I love it. We practically skip toward it, both going straight to the cotton candy. I smell it carefully before either of us eats it, reasonably confident that I could detect poison if it were present. It seems fine. I shrug and stuff a huge piece in my mouth, grinning as the pink floss melts down to nothing.

Cordelia tenses suddenly, a piece of cotton candy halfway to her mouth.

"What?" I whisper. A yelp cuts the air a split second later. Cordelia looks at me questioningly. Even though I'm three years younger, I've found myself making the decisions for both of us. Do I want to see what it was? Or whom, rather? It's not like either of us is actually going to win, I reason. No reason not to let my curiosity get the better of me. "Want to check it out?" I murmur.

Cordelia beams, returning her cotton candy to its bag. "A human head remains conscious for fifteen to twenty seconds after decapitation," she informs me cheerfully.

I blink. "That's… great," I say uncertainly.

"Not if it's your head."

I shrug. It's a fair point.

We tiptoe through the shadows in the direction of the sound, peeking around every corner. Finally, I see two figures standing in the middle of a path. I shoot Cordelia a questioning look. I can't even tell who they are in the dark, and it doesn't look like they're fighting. But it sounded like someone got hurt. Who?

Cordelia has better night vision than me. She points, and I finally see the third figure on the ground. I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out who it is.

Oh. Fuck.

The blade glimmers even though there's not really any light. Plan. Plan. Now. I need a plan. Even though Forest is a cynical bastard and I'm pretty sure he'll find a way to be mad at me about this. I'm not doing it for him. I don't want to watch him die, because I _know_ him, sort of, and if he can die than anyone I know can die, Cordelia can die, I can die…

I dart from around the corner, jabbing both Careers on the back of the neck with the bottom of my cotton candy cone. They whirl toward me. They tower over me.

What was I thinking?

"You're poisoned," I say, amazed that my voice isn't shaking. I hold the cone behind my back.

To my amazement, they believe me. They glance at each other. The girl looks like she's about to rip my head off, while the boy just looks like a bad day has become slightly worse.

"Antidote for his life?" the boy asks resignedly, gesturing over his shoulder at Forest, who starts to sit up. The girl darts over and kicks his shoulder, knocking him back to the ground and digging her blade into his throat.

"Now," she hisses.

I gulp. Now what?

"Let them leave," I say carefully. "Then I'll tell you where to find it. You have less than a minute before you lose consciousness, so you'll both have to go."

"Fine. Whatever." The girl steps away from Forest, pointedly nicking his neck as she pulls her sword away. He doesn't even flinch. He rises to his feet, grabbing a wide-eyed Cordelia's arm and dragging her after him. I'm left alone with the Careers, who stare at me expectantly.

"Wait, how do I know you won't just kill me as soon as I tell you?" I squeak.

The boy sighs. "You don't. But we won't. And you'll be doing exactly the same thing if you don't tell us."

Not really, I think. But it's a fair point. The girl looks like she begs to differ, but it's a chance I'll have to take, I guess. Suddenly, I feel sort of bad. I'm going to have to make something up, so they obviously won't find it. How long will it take before they realize they aren't dying?

"Excuse me?" the boy asks. He's trying to keep calm, but I can tell he's getting nervous.

"Um, right at the edge of the swamp," I babble. "Maybe as tall as your knee, dark green leaves with purple toward the outside, serrated leaves."

"Thanks!" the girl grins, stepping toward me and raising her sword.

_Fuck._

"I said no, Luster. We have thirty seconds. Come _on._"

I let out the breath I'd been holding as the Career's backs fade into the dark. I feel sick. And I dropped my cotton candy. And where in the world did Cordelia and Forest go?

Cordelia's head peeks from around the worn wood of the booth. She comes marching out. This time she's dragging Forest, who looks like he'd rather be just about anywhere else. He stares determinedly at the ground, jerking his arm from her grip. I'm half-tempted to gloat, but my knees are shaking.

"You should get out before they realize you lied," he says brusquely. I'm about to snap at him, but then I realize he's right.

"What do you mean _you?_" I can't resist pointing out. "What, are you waiting here for the Careers to come back?"

"None of your business." He crosses his arms, leaning against a clown statue.

To my surprise, Cordelia glares at him. "You're an idiot," she says frankly, and I can't agree more.

"We're not leaving if you don't. I didn't do that for nothing," I say stubbornly.

Forest growls exasperatedly, running a hand through his hair, but I know he'll listen. He has to. Right? Or would he really risk getting me caught by the Careers right after I saved his sorry life?

Finally, he slouches in the direction of the Ferris wheel. I smirk victoriously, even though I doubt he did it out of the kindness of his heart. No, he just wants people to mourn his death, meaning that he has to at least act grateful. Which could be quite entertaining, actually.

**Sorry for the long wait, by the way. Writer's block, alas. But I'm better now. And I didn't actually proofread this, because I still need a shower and I have to write up a bio lab. Because I know you're all very interested in exactly what my homework is. If you know anything about monocots versus dicots, do let me know, hmm?**


	14. What Do Monsters Have Nightmares About

**Why yes, I am indeed ripping off Doctor Who here.**

_God is growing bitter, He envies man his mortality. ~Jacques Rigaut, _Pensées

**Everlay Martire, District 7, 16**

I walk through the trees as quietly as I can, wondering if it might have been a better idea to just wait until morning. If every tribute decides it's safer to be nocturnal, I'll be screwed. But I have to find something to eat or drink somehow.

Although to be perfectly honest, I'd trade all the food in the world for an axe right now.

The woods grow slightly brighter as the clouds begin to fade. It doesn't really help. If anything, it's creepier than before. The moonlight reflects off the mist, creating tiny movements that insist on being located right at the corners of my vision. I shiver. It's a little chilly, on top of everything.

I freeze, more on a sixth sense than anything, sidestepping silently until my back is to a tree. I'm not even sure I heard something, but my heart is suddenly pounding in my chest. Anything else in these woods can probably hear it. But there _isn't_ anything else. It's completely silent. I just hope it will stay that way.

I let out my breath and take another step, throwing a glance behind the tree I had had my back to. It's too dark to see much of anything, but nothing jumps out at me, which is good enough as far as I'm concerned.

Except that I'm pretty sure I can see something. I keep perfectly still, focusing carefully on the vague, shadowy shape. There's no sound or movement. A rock or something stupid like that. I start to look away.

No. It just moved. It was barely perceptible, but I know it did. But now it's still again. Whatever it is, it looks like it comes at least up to my chest. I don't know whether to run or scream or stay perfectly still or back away slowly. Maybe I imagined it moving. But I don't think I did.

I stay frozen for a long, long time. Or at least it feels like it. The shadow doesn't move again. I finally pluck up the courage to take a single tiny step backwards, half-expecting the thing to spring to life. Nothing but eerie silence and stillness. It's hard to believe that I'm not the only living thing in the arena. Which, I reflect, would be very nice.

Something brushes my back. My heart almost stops.

"Don't turn," a girl's voice says.

I feel sick. She's going to kill me, whoever she is. I try to telepathically tell Tierany and Rivlyn not to watch. Poor Rivlyn. She's old enough to recognize death when she sees it, but not to understand why I'm being killed. Except I don't really understand either.

"When I tell you, turn around as fast as you can and face the exact opposite direction. Got it?" The girl's voice sounds like she's facing away from me. I realize that rather than pointing a weapon at me, she's standing so that we're back to back.

"What? Why? What are you–"

"I won't hurt you, okay? But that thing will. Just listen to me."

I take a deep breath. If she's armed, she could have killed me already, whoever she is. Wait. That thing? The shadow? I feel my heart start to pound again, but the shape still doesn't move.

"Okay. Sure," I say weakly, bracing myself and wondering why the hell she wants me to do this.

The girl's muscles tense against my back, like she's hefting a weapon. "Turn!" she hisses.

I spin as fast as I can. Instantly, a terrifying roar comes from behind me. I can't stop myself from turning again. The girl is standing where I had been… and the shadow has closed half the distance between us. Now it's perfectly still again. I blink slowly, putting some serious thought into passing out on the spot.

"Back to back!" the girl says angrily. I don't want to take my eyes off the thing. But the realization that there could be more is enough incentive for me to direct my attention in the opposite direction. The pale blue moonlight makes a few random sections of the forest at least somewhat visible, but I still can't see much of anything.

The girl isn't at my back anymore. "What are you doing?" I ask nervously. "What's going on?"

"Keep facing that way," she growls, but I can hear a bit of a tremor in her voice. I hear a huff of breath and the sound of a blade swinging, then a weird hiss, like air escaping. There's something dangerous to it, like the air is poison.

"Can I turn now?" I ask.

"Can you climb? I haven't seen any in the trees." There's a pause, like the girl is thinking about something. "Yet."

"No problem," I reply, my voice slightly higher than usual. "I'm good with trees."

"Great. Climb that one. I'll be right behind you."

I don't question it. I grip the mossy, weathered trunk with all four limbs and scale it as fast as I can. The blue-glowing leaves look far more promising than the shadowy ground, and I wonder why I didn't climb a tree hours ago.

Oh, right. Because I'm still hungry and thirsty as hell. Oh well.

I haul myself onto a branch, helping the girl up after me. It takes her significantly longer to climb the tree, and I don't get the feeling it's something she does every day. We climb wordlessly as high as we can without breaking the branches and falling. The higher we go, the lighter it gets, although the girl doesn't seem to want to go higher than a certain point.

"I'm Ever," I say, figuring that I owe some degree of politeness.

"Ari," the girl replies with a smile. She's visibly calmer now that we're off the ground.

"So you knew what the shadow thing was?"

She bobs her head thoughtfully. "Sort of. I think they only move when you're not looking at them."

A nasty thought hits me. "Any idea what happens if they _catch_ you?"

"None whatsoever."

I grimace, trying to look at the forest floor, but I can't see through the leaves and branches. "At least they can be killed by swords."

Ari laughs. "I think if they couldn't, these would be a very quick Games."

**Suede Poriskova, District 8, 15**

"Douchenoodle," Namitha sniffs.

"Asshat."

She glares at me indignantly. "That one's mine!"

"Is not! You can't claim an insult!" I think about it for a moment. "Well, maybe douchenoodle. I've never heard that one before. But definitely not asshat."

I'm treated to a venomous glare. "How about assmug?"

"You can have assmug."

"Thank you."

"Welcome."

We continue our louder-than-advisable trek through the carnival, both of us determinedly acting like the omnipresent clowns aren't scaring the hell out of us. I've never been to a carnival before. I wonder what the rides would be like. Some of them look like they might have been fun, but the Ferris wheel and roller coaster make me sick just looking at them. Way too high for me.

I hear a yell. And not just any yell. It sounds suspiciously like two female voices yelling "_Fuck!_" in unison. It's not right next to us, but I think it came from within the carnival. I throw a hand out, trying to get Namitha to stop. She walks straight into it and immediately turns on me, looking spectacularly offended.

"Shh!" I hiss before she can scream at me.

She freezes right before yelling, her eyes screwed up and mouth open. "Personal bubble!" she whispers anticlimactically.

"That wasn't my fault! You walked into my hand!"

"You put your hand right where I was walking!"

Another yell cuts us off. We glance at each other, both raising our eyebrows and trying to get the other to make a decision about whether or not to investigate.

"Probably a bad idea," Namitha says.

"Probably," I agree.

She gives me a suspicious look. "You're curious, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"Oh good, me too. Let's go." We set off in the direction of the yell, trying to be as quiet as we can. We're not very good at it.

We've barely gone a hundred feet when a little girl comes flying out of nowhere. The Five girl, I think. Miriam or something. When she sees us, her eyes widen and she gives a little squeak.

"Oh," she pants. "You're tributes." Two more people come hurrying from behind a game booth. The Six girl looks utterly terrified, but the Five boy looks somewhere between resigned and angry, like someone's just ruined his day but he'd pretty much been expecting it. He's limping pretty badly. My eyes widen at the next figure that rounds the corner.

"Oh, damn," Namitha says in a small voice.

The clown is at least seven feet tall, appears to have been zombified, and is holding a meat cleaver. For a moment, I'm not sure whether to laugh or scream. There's no way this is happening. This is… I don't even know. Something _I_ would come up with, except I wouldn't actually inflict it on people.

We all take off wordlessly, glancing over our shoulders. The clown is slower, but only just. And the fact that it can run straight through rides and game booths sort of gives it an advantage.

I notice that the Five boy is falling behind. I slow down enough to let him get ahead of me without anyone noticing, wondering what happened to him. One of his calves turns out to be bleeding. A lot. I'm surprised he's even conscious considering how much blood he must have lost. In addition to the limp, he seems dizzy, like he might trip and fall any time. Which would be a very, very bad thing for him.

"Um, you okay?" I ask stupidly. He shoots me a tired, disbelieving look, and I'm immediately self-conscious. "Rhetorical question," I say quickly.

"Ah." He stumbles over nothing, grimacing painfully. I shoot another glance over my shoulder. I gulp. The clown is pretty much right behind us. I think it's picked up speed. It smiles nastily, revealing sharp, bloody teeth.

After that, things start to happen very fast. The Five boy seems to lose consciousness midstride, collapsing with a sad little sigh. His District partner tries to catch him, but she's tiny. They both tumble to the ground. The clown stands over them, raising its cleaver robotically, still with that awful smile on its face. I find myself completely frozen.

The Six girl throws herself forward. The cleaver begins to fall.

And I notice the Test-Your-Strength booth. Or more specifically, the giant wooden mallet lying next to it. I lunge for it, almost losing my nerve when a sound comes from behind me that couldn't possibly have been anything other than a cleaver hitting flesh. I think I just might be sick. But I've got to knock a clown out first.

I can barely lift the mallet, but I heft it as best I can, turning back to the clown and avoiding looking at the ground at its feet. There's a lot of red. But as long as I keep it in the corner of my vision, I'm okay.

The clown doesn't seem to notice me. It raises the cleaver again. I swing the mallet as hard as I can it its general direction, the inertia jerking me after it. I end up hitting the clown solidly in the stomach. It doesn't feel like hitting a person. More like a sack of flour or something. But the clown reacts just like anyone would, doubling over and falling to the ground. Before I can think about it, I raise the mallet again and bring it down on the clown's head. There's a splintering, cracking noise that sounds more like metal than bone, which is a very good thing because I probably would have passed out on the spot. The clown doesn't move again.

I slowly turn my attention to the other tributes, even though I want nothing more than to run away and never come back. Miriam's scared, shocked face stares back at me. Forest's shoulder is on her back, pinning her down. His chest it bloody, but he's breathing. I pull him to the side carefully. Miriam jumps up and runs to the Six girl, who's curled up in a ball, and I know somehow that she was the one who was hit.

I can't actually see the wound, but there's no question that she's dying. The amount of blood sinking into the path around her is terrifying. She's shaking. One of her fingers rubs a hemp bracelet around her wrist.

"Cordelia," Miriam says softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. I can hear in her voice that she's crying. I probably would be too if I wasn't completely stunned. I realize that I'm still holding the mallet. I drop it distractedly, stepping forward like I'm in a daze and joining Miriam at Cordelia's side.

And suddenly, I realize just what these Games are. I didn't know this girl, but from what little I've seen of her, I can see how much she was worth. And her life was spent for a few cheap thrills. I bow my head, struggling to keep some kind of composure. Cordelia is clearly in pain. I can stay calm for her. I shouldn't be here. Her family should. No. No one should. She shouldn't be here.

A cannon fires. She's not here anymore.

Miriam wails brokenheartedly. Can the Capitol _hear_ that? Probably not. They probably don't broadcast things like that, because then they might figure out that we're real.

Namitha's gone.

I glance around again even though I know I was right the first time. I look down the path we followed. Nothing. Another rush of guilt hits me when I realize I have no idea when we lost her. But there's only been one cannon. She's alive. Somewhere. I should find her. Except I feel like I'm about to pass out.

I sink to the ground between Forest and Miriam, wondering if I should look for Namitha right now. But Miriam's in no state to defend herself, and Forest is still out cold from what I can see. I'm worried about Namitha, but it's a dull, distant feeling. Or more likely, I'm too numb to really think about it.

Miriam falls silent, backing away from Cordelia and scooting over so that she's shoulder to shoulder with me. I think she just needs some kind of human contact. A thirteen-year-old shouldn't have to watch her friend die like that. It's not fair.

The hovercraft can't take Cordelia until we move, and we can't move until Forest wakes up, because there's no way in hell I can carry him. I finally remember how much he was bleeding, and that that was why he passed out in the first place. Stupid, I berate myself. He could die any minute. But that's what I should want, isn't it? I think grimly. I should want him dead. But I don't. Not him, not Namitha, not Miriam, not Cordelia. Just every last person in the Capitol.

I sigh and walk over to a booth, ripping a piece of navy blue velvet from a curtain lining the counter. It's probably not sanitary, but it's better than bleeding to death. I tie the fabric around Forest's leg, wondering if I already took too long. He's frighteningly pale, and his chest barely moves as he breathes. It's more for Miriam's sake than his own that I hope he survives. Except that at least one of them will die.

I flop to the ground again, hoping morning will come soon.


	15. Stay Golden

**Laralulu, I couldn't actually PM you, in an ironic twist of fate. You can review, but you might have to remind me a few times since I won't have it sitting in my inbox to remind me.**

**Everybody else, sorry again for the wait. I absolutely promise you that no matter how long I go MIA, I'm not abandoning this. But my finals are next week, so this might be my last update for a while. Yes, I say that pretty much every chapter, I know. But you know you love me. ;)**

_Children lack morality, but they also lack fake morality. ~Mignon McLaughlin, _The Neurotic's Notebook,_ 1960_

**Ophelia "Ella" Dyste, District 9, 16**

"Hey Ella, we got water!"

I'm wakened by Whit's happy whisper-yell. I sit bolt upright, momentarily alarmed, before his words register.

"What, sponsors?" I ask. I can't help being kind of surprised. Who would sponsor me?

Probably no one, I realize a moment later. The water was almost definitely meant for Whit. Or maybe someone thought Anne was pitiable enough. Not me, though. I'm too old for pity and too timid for real support. But when Whit grins and tosses me a water bottle, I'm also far too thirsty to turn it down.

I'm certainly glad it came when it did. We made camp in the swamp, the light glinting off the pond barely visible through the vegetation. It's probably the nastiest spot in the arena, which is exactly why we chose it. No one in their right mind would want to come here. Unless, of course, they anticipated our strategy.

I decide not to think about that.

So we had spent all last night glancing from each other to the pond, none of us suggesting drinking from it. It just looked like bad news. But we were pretty thirsty by the time we went to sleep.

Anne is leaning against a tree, holding a twig in her fingers lightly. At first I think she's just drawing patterns in the mud. Then I realize that there's a little beetle crawling over the twig.

Whit glances at it. "Cool," he smiles, obviously trying to be friendly. Anne just stares at him blankly. He turns to me with a _what did I do?_ look on his face, and I shrug. If there's one thing I've noticed about Anne, it's that she doesn't like talking, particularly with boys her age. I don't think it's that she's trying to be mean, just that she's shy. Shyer than me, which is saying something. Good thing Whit can talk enough for all three of us, I think with a smile.

I notice something glinting in his hand. A dagger, I realize after a moment. Probably another sponsor gift. I like the idea of at least someone in our alliance being armed. What I _don't_ like is the idea of Whit being the one trying to protect us if something bad happens. I'm the oldest. That's my job. I'd feel a bit strange to ask him for the dagger, but I resolve to find myself a weapon of my own as soon as I can.

"This water won't last long," Anne says quietly. "We need food, too."

It's perhaps the fifth time I've ever heard her speak. She's right, though. I only wish there was a way to know whether the water from the pond was okay or not. I still have a bad feeling about it. It's too easy. There has to be water somewhere else. Besides, the pond is in full view of the Cornucopia. We'd be in plain sight. And it's not like it's going anywhere, I reason. Well, probably not, anyway. But we could almost definitely try the pond if we can't find anything else.

"Where do you want to look?" I ask, clambering to my feet and stretching. Sleeping on the ground isn't the best thing with a short, muscular build like mine.

"Not the swamp," Whit says emphatically. "And the carnival didn't sound like the best place to be. You hear all that screaming last night?" He gives a theatrical shiver.

Anne shrugs. "That leaves the forest."

**Luster Astriage, District 1, 14**

What am I doing here?

I mean, I know why I'm here. I just don't know why _I'm_ here. Where did Dusk go?

She's not completely gone. I can feel her back there. But something scared her enough to chase her away. What was it? I don't see anything.

I glance around carefully, taking in the carnival. I'm not as disoriented as I should be. I don't feel like I've been here, but it still has that bit of subconscious familiarity of a place that Dusk has been and I haven't. I smirk slightly at the sight of a life-sized plastic clown. Very nice, Capitol.

Poison. Something about poison. She was scared… but she was furious, too.

As soon as the word _poison_ crosses my mind, I can feel Dusk's rage. I wince. She's the angriest I've ever known her to be. Which means she'll be back soon, and somebody's going to be in serious trouble.

I tense at a sound behind me. Muttering. A girl, I think. I tighten my grip on my sword, keeping my back to the wooden booth and sidling toward the corner. I won't kill whoever it is– that's Dusk's job, I think grimly– but I'm not letting them kill me, thank you very much.

Suddenly, the Eight girl comes stomping around the corner, almost walking straight onto my sword. She rears back with an impressive curse, black hair flying. I lower my sword quickly before she can run away.

"I'm Luster," I say.

"Namitha," she replies warily. "I thought you were a Career?"

"Um… sort of?" I hesitate, not entirely sure how to explain my situation. I don't even know why I'm talking to this girl. She knows her way around the arena better than I do, I suppose. I don't even know where my allies are. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," I reassure her.

Namitha doesn't look convinced. "Then how'd that happen?" she asks, pointing to my sword. I look at it more closely, turning the blade in the orangey dawn light. It's stained with red.

"That wasn't me," I say guiltily.

"Uh-huh."

I huff. "Look, does it really matter? Wouldn't I have killed you by now if I was going to?"

"Maybe," she says sulkily.

"Do you know where the Career alliance is?" I ask, changing the subject completely.

Namitha snorts. "Of course I do."

"And… can you show me?"

"How is that possibly a smart thing for me to do?" she asks. "I'll be making them that much stronger, _and_ I'd have to get close to their camp. No, thank you."

"Even if you could join?" I ask. I don't really know why I'm offering. She's obviously smart, though. Not too athletic-looking, but I'm sure she'll be good for _something._

Or maybe I just want someone else around who isn't a killer.

Namitha looks a little sad at the thought of joining an alliance. She hesitates for a long time before answering. "Okay," she finally sighs. "Why not."

She turns and jogs off into the carnival without saying anything else, and I wonder what else she's seen in this arena. Non-Career-District tributes are always a little leery of joining the Careers, probably since they feel like they're betraying something, but I get the feeling that there's more to it than that. I remember Namitha's District partner from the Reapings. He seemed friendly, if a little off-balance. I wonder whether he's still alive.

**Lupe Pelletier, District 12, 12 years old**

There's a weird sound in the woods in front of us. The leaves rustle. Then something hits me in the stomach with the force of a punch.

I look down in shock, and let my breath out at the sight of an arrow buried in my skin. The crazy instinct to pull it out rushes through me, and I barely manage to stop myself.

Rosaline and Keadon whirl toward me. I look up at them, wide-eyed. Am I dying? It doesn't feel like it. It hurts. A lot. But I'm perfectly lucid, and I'm not bleeding much.

It's completely silent, but I know whoever's after us won't let us go that easily. My allies seem to agree, because they grab me simultaneously, dragging all three of us behind a tree.

Ooh. _Now_ I'm bleeding.

A second arrow buzzes through the air a split second later. I wince at the _thud_ as it buries itself in a tree. There's an angry growl, then silence. Rosaline and Keadon exchange glances. I just focus on keeping my mouth shut, keeping perfectly still where they basically dumped me on the ground. The pain gets worse the more I think about it. The thing is, the worse it gets, the harder it is_ not_ to think about it. But I refuse to make a sound.

The Nine boy comes out of nowhere. Or more accurately, from around the tree. An arrow thuds into Keadon's heart before I even register the new boy's arrival.

Rosaline's jaw drops, a tiny squeak escaping her. I just watch, stunned, as Keadon crumples to the ground next to me. I couldn't make a sound if I wanted to. Keadon looks as surprised as I am.

A cannon fires.

I look up again to see the bow aimed at Rosaline. She's frozen, still staring at Keadon. Keadon's body. I can't let her die too. But what can I do?

The Nine boy lowers the bow suddenly, giving Rosaline a curious look. He doesn't seem to have noticed me curled up on the ground. He reaches over his shoulder. For an arrow? But he already has one, doesn't he? To my surprise, he pulls a water bottle from his backpack, a little silver parachute tied to it. A sponsor gift.

"Do me a favor and take a sip of this," he says brusquely, tossing it to Rosaline. She catches it reflexively, staring at him with a combination of shock and anger.

"No," she spits spitefully.

The boy rolls his eyes and draws back the arrow again, pointing it right into my face. I gulp. Rosaline scowls, but unscrews the cap and raises the bottle to her lips. I'm thoroughly confused, which is sort of an interesting thing to be when I'm also sad and utterly terrified. Why would he be poisoning her? Wouldn't it be easier to just shoot her? Or is he so paranoid that he thinks the Capitol is trying to poison him?

The boy stares intently at Rosaline as she takes a small sip, keeping the point of the arrow right in my face. I remember suddenly that I'm holding a knife. I raise it hesitantly. He doesn't notice. I slice through the bowstring as quickly as I can.

"Wha–" he hisses, feeling the sudden loss of tension. He whips the bow back and instantly realizes what I've done. He jams the now-slack bow into the quiver on his back, muttering angrily. And just when I start to feel a bit of triumph, he reaches into his backpack again and pulls out two very long, very sharp hunting knives.

My heart falls. Why, oh why didn't I just let him shoot us?

Rosaline looks down at me, her expression asking a clear question: Can you run?

I shake my head silently. She gives me a sad look. I jerk my head in the direction of the swamp. She blinks slowly, and I know we've arrived at an understanding.

Rosaline turns and runs. The Nine boy lunges forward, but he has to jump over me to get to her, so it's easy for me to trip him. He tries to shake me off, but I won't let go. I yelp as the arrow catches on the ground, sending it even deeper into my skin. Now the wound is bleeding freely. I can't believe how much it hurts.

By the time the boy finally kicks me away, Rosaline is long out of hearing range. He turns to me slowly, sighing.

"I can track her easily, you know," he says quietly. I don't say anything in return. He's probably furious at me. I cut his bowstring, I tripped him… those knives. I'm scared again. I hate being scared.

The boy steps toward me. I can feel a sob in my throat, and I hate myself for it. But the _knives._ The look in his eyes is terrifyingly cold. Please make this fast, I think. Please, please, please. But he must hate me. It's too much to hope that he won't make this as painful as he possibly can.

I can't meet his eyes no matter how hard I try. I look away, but I can still see the blades glinting in the corner of my vision. The look on the boy's face is thoughtful. I close my eyes. Please, please, please.

There's something cold against my throat. I can feel my blood spilling down my neck. It doesn't hurt.

**I figured one sadist was enough for this arena. Didn't really seem like Jaeger's style, anyway. A moment of silence for Keadon Archer, who never did have much luck, and Lupe Pelletier, who really shouldn't get a moment of silence because he's my OC, but I happened to like him, so there.**


	16. Famous Last Words

**This one's pushing it a bit in the ratings department, just to warn you. There's slightly worse language than usual, thanks to our beloved Sol and Talon.**

_It's not the bullet with my name on it that worries me. It's the one that says "To whom it may concern." ~Anonymous Belfast resident, quoted in _London Guardian,_1991_

**Talon Creed, District 2, 17**

Sol and I glance at each other as a cannon fires, the second one in as many minutes. Nobody else seems to notice, except maybe Venesse.

"I said move or I'll kill both of you!"

"And I said shut up."

Lithe and Luster… er, Dusk… er, Luster? Whatever. The girls from One and Two glare at each other, both hefting weapons. The Eight girl, introduced as Namitha by the girl I decide to think of as Luster, stands a few feet away, scratching her head.

"Give me one good reason we shouldn't have as many allies as we can," Luster snaps.

"Uh, remember the Three boy?" Lithe shoots back. "He tried to kill Mika! Didn't he, Miky?"

Mika gives a little huff, shooting Lithe an exasperated look_._ "Please don't call me that."

"Okay, Miky."

Namitha glances around some more, her lips twitching like she's about to laugh. Not that I blame her. The Careers aren't acting that Career-ish.

"It's only day two, guys," I point out, rubbing my temples against a headache I feel coming on. "That cannon makes, what, six dead? A seventh Career wouldn't hurt."

"Ow."

I glance up, slightly miffed that someone interrupted my inspiring speech. I see Namitha rubbing her head and bending down to pick up the full water bottle that just bounced off it.

"See? She's even got sponsors," Luster says smugly.

Namitha straightens up just in time to get hit by what appears to be a halberd, suspended by three parachutes tied along its length. She scowls.

"Again, ow."

"Can you use that?" Sol asks, raising an impressed eyebrow.

The Eight girl shrugs. "Dunno," she says neutrally. She waves it experimentally, stumbling at the weight. Sol yelps and drops to the ground as it misses his red hair by an inch. Lithe sniggers.

It's going to be a long Games.

"Try holding it like this," Sol says, demonstrating on his sword handle. Mika sniggers. "Oh, shut the fuck up, Captain Maturity."

I snort. Captain Maturity. I like it.

Lithe appears torn between fury and disgust. Maybe we should be taking things a little more seriously, but honestly, most if not all of us are going to be dead pretty soon, right? Why not enjoy ourselves while we have the chance? Admittedly enjoying ourselves might make us more likely to get killed, but I personally think it's worth the trade-off.

Namitha swings the halberd again, its inertia spinning her three hundred and sixty degrees. It slips out of her hands, flying straight at Sol for the second time in as many minutes– that, at least, gets a smile out of Lithe, which vanishes once he dodges it– and Namitha falls flat on her rear. Sol cracks up, offering Namitha a hand when she glares at him, although he's still laughing his ass off as he pulls her to her feet.

"How sweet," Mika mutters from my right. I get the distinct feeling he's about to laugh, though.

"Hey, romance awaits you too," I shrug innocently, gesturing at Lithe. "I'm not gonna fight you." I can see Mika flipping me off in my peripheral vision. I smirk. "Hey, I saw how you looked at her during the chariots."

He raises an eyebrow. "That was before the Three girl. I think I'll pass, thanks. I'm not into that."

This time I have to laugh. "Probably a smart move," I snicker, hitting him on the shoulder.

"Huh," Mika mutters darkly, watching Sol blush spectacularly and trip over his own feet. He seems to have managed to find the one girl his age who's actually shorter than him. How sweet, indeed. What a shame it happened in the Hunger Games.

All of us glance up at a noise from the swamp across the field, a sound like a branch snapping. I'm wondering whether to write it off as natural– a weird concept in the arena– when it's followed by what sounds suspiciously like a laugh. A very, very deranged laugh.

Hmm.

"Trap," Namitha says. We all turn toward her simultaneously. She blushes a little. "What? Everyone knows the Careers are at the Cornucopia. No one would be stupid enough to make that much noise so close to here if they didn't want you to investigate."

"Told you we wanted her around," Luster gloats at Lithe, who was already halfway across the field. Lithe stalks back angrily, glancing over her shoulder at the now-silent swamp.

"Well, what do you suggest we do, genius?" Lithe growls at Namitha. Sol frowns, but doesn't say anything.

Namitha bites her lip. "Um…"

"Because I've got a _great_ idea." There's a collective wince at Lithe's sharklike grin. "I think somebody should go check it out, don't you guys?" She suddenly whirls toward Venesse, who freezes, eyes wide. "And I think it should be _you."_

Everyone's gaze shifts yet again, this time toward Mika. It occurs to me that no one's actually watching the swamp, so I keep one eye on it, wondering what Mika will do. He did bring Venesse into the alliance, after all, although I got the distinct feeling he sort of regretted it as soon as she showed up at the Cornucopia for the first time.

I feel kind of bad for Namitha, too. I can practically feel the guilt radiating off of her. I think we all know what's going on here: a trade-off. Even I'm starting to realize that a Career pack of more than six simply won't work, not after the first day.

Lithe steps closer to Venesse, hefting her sword pointedly. The Four girl gulps when no one comes to her rescue. She takes a deep breath, obviously steeling herself.

"That's really nice of you," she snaps at Lithe, green eyes flashing.

Lithe smirks. "Off you go. Or are you a wimp like your brother? He cried during the Reaping, didn't he? He'd already be dead if he were here."

Venesse blinks a few times, staring at her. She takes a deep breath like she's about to scream. "He's a wimp because he didn't want his sister to die?" she says, her voice calm.

"No," Lithe laughs. "He's a wimp because he cried. Hey, you think he's crying right now? I bet he is. He'd probably sob like a little girl if I ran you through right now. Which I will do, rest assured, if you're not on your way to that swamp in four seconds."

Venesse stares at the ground for a moment, her face perfectly blank. I get the distinct feeling that she's beyond furious, and is only trying to decide whether killing Lithe is worth dying. Eventually, she seems to decide to save her revenge for another occasion. She grabs a dagger from the ground and sets off for the swamp without saying anything else.

She won't actually get hurt, I tell myself, trying to make myself feel better about the fact that I'm watching a fifteen-year-old girl walk straight into who-knows-what. Maybe we just imagined it. And if it's another tribute, they probably ran away by now. There's no way they actually want us coming over there. Even though that laugh sounded like something out of a horror movie, and anyone who was camped out near the Careers in the first place obviously has something up their sleeve.

Venesse trudges across the ever-muddy field and vanishes into the swamp while we watch in silence. Aside from Lithe's giggling, that is. There are another few seconds of quiet. Then Venesse's yell echoes across the field.

Well, shit.

**Alexis Ismene, District 6, 15**

Oh, this is too good.

The funny thing is, I didn't actually mean to break the branch. That was just bad judgment on my part regarding how high I could go without a branch snapping under my weight. But when the Careers all looked up in perfect unison, like in a choreographed musical or something stupid like that, I couldn't help laughing. More bad judgment, actually, considering that I was hanging by a few fingers thirty feet above the ground, but whatever.

So they're going to come at me one at a time, like villains at a hero, or morons at a monster. I'm not really sure which applies better. I'm no hero, so I guess that makes them morons.

I snicker to myself and swing toward the ground, crouching on a branch maybe ten feet up and waiting for the Four girl to show up. I have to admit, I wish it wasn't her. Some tiny part of me might even feel a little guilty. _Might._ And only a tiny part. And only a little guilty. Because I've been looking forward to this.

I'm sort of surprised when the girl walks straight toward me. I'd been expecting her to try to go into the swamp somewhere other than where my voice came from, since she didn't seem to want to investigate in the first place. But she doesn't, either not thinking of it or deciding to be brave and see who's here. How very inspiring.

I wait for her to walk past before I jump from the branch, unable to resist a bit of drama. It's worth it for her yelp and the look on her fact when she spins around. But of course, she has to ruin it by giving me a bemused look, clearly not at all intimidated. I scowl. So what if I'm barely bigger than she is? I've got a knife, don't I? She does too, I guess, but still. I'm sort of used to people being… unnerved by me.

"Uh, hey," she says quietly, giving me a weird look.

I blink. How, exactly, am I supposed to deal with this situation? Flat-out attacking her seems a bit unsportsmanlike, somehow.

"Hey," I sigh, thunder thoroughly stolen. "Now, either agree to fight on my side, attack me, or get out of here before your buddies decide to see where you went, huh?"

"Gee, thanks for the reception. What's your name, anyway?"

I stare at her, trying to decide whether I'm angry, amused, or impressed. I finally decide on an odd combination of all three. "Alexis. Now decide, please. If you're still here by the time they show up, I'm counting you as one of them. And you appear to be standing opposite me from the clearing, and I don't intend to get stabbed in the back, thanks. So answer me."

"I won't attack you," Venesse says slowly, clearly trying to decide. Her eyes dart nervously from the swamp to the Careers, and I think she's just trying to decide which one is the lesser of two evils. Apparently I'm the least of three evils. Hurrah. I can't help feeling a bit miffed, actually. I lean against a tree, crossing my arms and watching the Careers argue from the cover of the shadows while Venesse bites her lip.

I've been realizing for a while now how wrong I was about the Games. I had figured I'd fit right in, considering my somewhat dubious history in my District. But the truth is, I've never killed anyone. It just never quite got that far, somehow. And I stand by my previous conclusion– winning is worse than losing– but maybe that's just for me. Maybe people who haven't terrified and alienated anyone who might possibly care about them wouldn't see it that way, and maybe they'd be right.

Okay. Fine. They want to win; I don't. No problem there. We can all just join hands and sing Kumbaya. But my life is still mine to spend, so I intend for it and these Games to end the way I want them to.

"I'm not exactly a favorite anyway," Venesse says from behind me. "I'll stay."

I frown as the One girl and the Two girl start yelling at each other. _Get on with it, please,_ I think irritably.

"That's an awful reason," I say flatly. "But you mean it. So you're lying about why. Why are you fighting them?"

I hear her snort irritably. "Because that's not nosy at all. I'm trying to help here."

"Like hell you are. You've never talked to me before. Do you just want to kill them or what?" I don't even have to turn to know I'm right. Or at least partly.

"Not all of them," she mutters.

"Who?"

"Lithe."

Ah, yes. Lithe Charm, the female tribute of District Two, and perhaps the one person in the arena I'd rather not get caught by, all other things being equal. Although I could probably learn a few things from her if she weren't trying to kill me. Presumably Venesse here disapproves of her less-than-efficient way of killing the competition. Understandable. Getting rid of her would certainly be a noble, if not advisable, feat to attempt.

"Why?" I ask, more out of curiosity than anything else. I can't imagine that Venesse's feelings toward Lithe are very different from a significant number of people's toward me.

"Because she's evil," Venesse growls. "She's merciless and arrogant and she thinks she can do whatever she wants. The world would be better off without her. _And_ she said my brother Kane was a wimp!"

I blink, forcing myself to remember that she was talking about Lithe, not me. But she isn't done yet.

"She's barely even human. I don't think she even gets that other people might have families and ambitions and stuff like that. It's just all about her. She makes stupid decisions and expects everyone to go along with them, and she threatens anyone who doesn't. She understands people, but she uses it to hurt them. She–"

I turn away as Venesse rants on. I get the feeling that the insult of her brother was what really set her off, but almost every single thing she says could apply to me too, and I can't deny that it stings.

"– She's completely boy-crazy–"

Okay, not _everything._

"– She's practically a sadist. She _is_ a sadist. I think the only emotions she even notices in other people are bad ones, and she loves them. She'll tear down anyone she doesn't like, even if it was just over a stupid little thing–"

"All right, I get it. Shut up," I say harshly, turning back toward her and glaring. Venesse looks a little surprised, but I think it's more at herself than me. She does seem a little hurt by me snapping at her. I roll my eyes and transfer my glare to a tree while she stares belligerently at the ground. After a moment, she glances up. And charges straight at me.

"What the–" I manage to say before she slams into me, her body barely missing the butcher's knife I was in the process of raising. I stumble to the side. A long blade whines through the air, slashing straight down between Venesse and I. "Oh."

I whirl and find myself facing a grinning Lithe. "You laugh like a psycho," she says delightedly, not sounding entirely balanced herself. I'm tempted to point that out, but decide to prioritize not getting impaled over making snarky comments. Maybe I was okay with dying, but death looks very different up close, and I do _not_ like the look it's giving me right now.

"Hey!" Venesse cries indignantly, shouldering me out of the way. Presumably she wants to fight Lithe herself. Well, best of luck to her with that. I turn to face the other… one, two, three, four Careers. Huh. I may not have thought this one through particularly well.

"My brother isn't a wimp," Venesse hisses behind me.

"Is too," Lithe sings. Oh, _very_ clever. Still, it's apparently effective, because I hear the clash of blades a split second later. Oh boy. Catfight.

I back away steadily as the other Careers try to surround me. I don't like retreating, but these odds are impossible. I could just turn and run right now. But then what? Win or die. I don't want to win. I know I don't. So I guess I want to die. Right?

The big Four boy attacks first. I grin. Easy. He swings a massive sword at me, but I can see it coming a mile off. I lunge in return, snarling and slashing at him with my knife. He ignores the blood blooming across his chest, and I scowl. I didn't have my blade at the right angle to get between his ribs. Stupid, stupid ribs.

He swings a fist. I dodge again, but barely. What I don't completely evade is the One girl's sword, which cuts my side open. Whoops. I dance to my right as another blade swoops right in front of my nose. I don't even know whose it is at this point; I'm just struggling not to get killed, ducking and dodging and wondering whether I could make it up a tree without someone running me through. I decide to give it a go, jumping for a low branch. I sense rather than see the Two boy behind me and drop to the ground, cursing as his sword slashes straight through the thin air where my heart was two seconds ago.

Yeah, this could be a problem.

I decide to go on the offensive, knowing it's only a matter of time before I take a hit. Well, a worse hit than I already have. I can't tell whether the cut on my side is shallow or I'm just in shock. I'll find out if I'm not dead in the next few minutes, I guess.

The Four boy is the biggest target. I throw myself at him, wincing as somebody's sword slashes across my back. There's no way I'm making it out of this. But this is as good a way to die as any, I guess, although I hadn't really wanted to give someone the satisfaction of killing me. Oh well. We don't always get want we want.

I jump onto the Career's back, wrapping an arm around his neck. There's a yell that sounds like Venesse. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her fall to the ground.

Before the boy can react, I slash my knife across his throat, barely missing my own wrist. I blink as his blood drips over my forearm. He topples to the ground with a gurgle, and I realize resignedly that I've miscalculated yet again as I'm taken with him, ending up sprawled on my back with his blood soaking into my clothes and, more distressingly, my knife gone and three blades at my own throat. A cannon fires, and the Careers glare.

And just when I thought my day couldn't get any worse, Lithe appears above me, her glare upside-down from my angle. She knocks the other three blades away and digs the point of her sword into my throat, forcing my head back. I can't actually lean back any farther, but she presses the blade against my neck harder anyway. I feel the exact moment that the metal bites through my skin. A thin trickle of blood drips down my jaw.

Lithe's lips curve slowly into a grin at the sight of me bleeding. I grit my teeth as she deepens the cut even more. I know I should just slit my own throat on her sword and be done with it. If I don't do it now, I'll wish I had. But I can't. I gulp, regretting it immediately when the movement draws more blood from me and a toothier smile from Lithe.

"You," she hisses, "Should not have killed my Miky."

Oops.


	17. No Kill Like Overkill

**FYI, the first two cannons are Keadon and Lupe. After that… Well, you'll see. The idea is that the stuff in this chapter is happening pretty much simultaneously. Although I'm pretty sure I screwed up with the cannons somewhere, so just ignore it if you notice it.**

_A man's dying is more the survivors' affair than his own. ~Thomas Mann, _The Magic Mountain

**Ariadne "Ari" Farest, District 10, 17**

Ever and I creep through the woods carefully, on the lookout for the shadow-ghost-wolf-type-thingamajigs.

"I think they only come out at night," Ever observes.

I snort. "Go figure. Abandoned carnivals, a graveyard, and the things that go bump in the night. Great."

Ever's stomach growls loudly, and I'm instantly reminded that I'm hungry, too. She takes a sip from a bottle her sponsors sent her last night, then tosses it to me. I feel sort of bad for drinking her water, but then again, she probably would've died last night if not for me, so I figure we're about even.

We've been walking for a few uneventful minutes when the woods begin to melt into swamp. Neither of us says anything, so we keep going. I really do hope there's food _somewhere_ in the arena. But there would have to be, wouldn't there? I sort of wish I knew how to identify plants. Plants are most definitely something this arena has no shortage of. But knowing the Gamemakers, almost all of them are poisonous.

The ground starts to get muddy. I mutter to myself, hopping from the little islands of firm ground at the bases of the trees to avoid sinking into oblivion. _Not_ a good way to go, thank you very much.

Ever and I freeze simultaneously when a cannon fires.

"Wonder who that was," she sighs. I think she likes to act tough, but I get the feeling that she's a lot more compassionate than she prefers to admit.

"Not us," I shrug, not entirely sure how to reply.

"I guess."

We keep walking. I don't really know what I'm hoping to find. Food, I guess, although it's not like there's going to be a pile of supplies sitting in the middle of the swamp. At least I doubt it, although that would be excellent, come to think of it.

Another cannon. We glance at each other, wondering what's going on. Did both tributes die the same way? Is there a mutt on the loose or something? Or maybe an alliance just ran into some trouble.

My eyes widen at the sight of movement in the swamp. I gesture for Ever to duck behind a tree, and I do the same, sticking my head out to try to figure out what it is. Whatever it is, it's headed straight toward us. I gulp and tighten my grip on my sword.

Soon enough, the shape reveals itself to be a girl. The Eleven girl, I realize a second later. Rose–something. Rosaline, maybe. She's darting through the swamp, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. I think she's crying.

"Well? Are we about to get murdered or what?" Ever whispers from behind her tree.

I shake my head. "Doubt it." I'm not sure what to do. I think this girl is being pursued, which means that if we help her, whatever's after her is after us too. But if we keep our heads down and let her run by, her pursuer will come right past us, and he, she or it might be more observant.

In the end, I can't stand to just leave her alone in the arena, even though I know how things will have to end eventually.

"Hey," I say, stepping out from behind my tree while she's still a good thirty feet off. I want to give her space to run away from me if she wants to.

Her eyes widen for a second, but then I think she realizes I'm no killer. "Hey," she replies, gasping for breath. "You might want to… leave. Unless you… feel like killing… the Nine boy. Which would… be great, actually."

Nine boy. I remember him. The grumpy one. But the grumpy one who hunts, and who, if I remember correctly, managed to snag a bow at the Cornucopia.

"Does he still have a bow?" I hiss to Rosaline, pulling her behind a tree and peering into the swamp in the direction she came from. I'm not arguing with a bow.

"Probably, but Lupe cut the bowstring," she replies, her voice cracking on the word "Lupe." The name is very familiar, although I don't remember exactly who it is, so I infer that whomever it was must have been one of her allies. Killed by the Nine boy, I assume.

A third cannon goes off just as I think the word "killed." And at the same time, I notice something. It's not actually the movement that catches my eye. It's the lack thereof. Something _had_ been moving, without my noticing it, and it froze for a split second when the cannon fired. I raise my eyebrows. For all his sociopathy, the boy has skills.

At least I think it's him. I keep my eyes on the spot I thought I saw him… and jump a foot in the air when there's another tiny movement fifteen feet closer than I expected.

"So… are we fighting him?" I ask, knowing he'll be in earshot pretty soon.

Rosaline shrugs. She's stopped crying. In fact, she looks pretty pissed off right about now. "Why not? I've got a knife."

I consider it. I've got a sword, but… Ugh. I _should_ kill him. He'll kill us. He already killed Rosaline's ally, or at least that's what I assume. But I just don't like the idea. Unlike Ever, who scowls when she realizes she's unarmed, and Rosaline, who looks downright murderous.

"Here," I say on a whim, offering Ever my sword.

She looks shocked. "Ari, are you sure? I don't even– ARI!" She snatches the sword from my hand. For a second I think she's trying to kill me, but then she jabs over my shoulder with it. I spin and find myself facing the Nine boy, who appears to have dodged just in time. He's balanced on his heels, leaning as far back as he can with the blade an inch away from his nose.

Without thinking, I punch him in the jaw. He's already so off-balance that he stumbles against a tree, growling under his breath. I throw a sidelong glance at Ever. If she's going to kill someone, now would be the time. She takes a hesitant step forward.

But before she can do anything, Rosaline comes flying past both of us, wielding her little knife. The boy straightens up, a long hunting knife in both hands. He looks almost offended, and I note with satisfaction the beginning of a bruise already blossoming on his jaw. I wonder whether Ever and I should interfere. It seems sort of unfair, but then again, Rosaline's pretty tiny. The boy isn't huge, but he's still way bigger than she is, better armed, and probably better with his weapons, too.

At least that's what I assume, but once they start fighting I honestly can't tell. I wonder for the first time whether Rosaline has been trained. Still, the boy is only fighting with one knife so far, and he's distracted trying to keep an eye on us. Well, I'll keep him distracted. I step closer, acting like I'm going to attack, even though I'm obviously not. The boy glances over his shoulder for the first time, like he's considering running. Rosaline smirks and lunges.

He whirls and hits her in the face, his hand closed around the hilt of his knife. She falls with a gasp. I curse and dive at him as he raises the knife, regretting the absence of my sword. I can see Ever moving in to help, but she's a few feet behind me.

I slam into the boy's shoulder with all of my weight, sending both of us to the ground. I feel something digging into my ribs. Really hard, actually. It really hurts. And why does my chest feel wet?

… Oh.

The boy looks as surprised as I am. I don't think he meant to stab me. He shoves me off of him roughly, then grits his teeth and yanks his knife from my chest. I hear Ever scream somewhere in the corner of my mind, but it's like I'm half-asleep and I can't tell if it's real or not. I look up. Rosaline throws her knife as hard as she can after the boy, but I hear the distant _thud_ as it hits a tree.

"Ari?" Ever says softly, kneeling on the ground next to me. I try to keep my eyes open. I'm dizzy. It feels like I stood up too fast, and now my vision is blurry and I can't think straight and I feel off-balance, even though I'm lying down.

Rosaline's face appears. "Thanks," she says. She looks stunned. There are a few cuts on her arms, and one side of her face looks swollen. "We'll get him, you know."

"He didn't do it on purpose," I whisper.

"He would have," she growled. "And what he did to Keadon and Lupe was on purpose."

"Keadon?" Ever says disbelievingly. I barely see Rosaline nod. I don't think the knife hit my heart, but since he pulled it out, the wound is bleeding freely. I wonder whether he knew that or he just wanted his knife back. I don't know which is worse.

I hope things get better someday. I really, really do.

**Lithe Charm, District 2, 18**

I glance up at the sound of a cannon, then down again when I realize I've accidentally pressed my sword down. Careful, I tell myself. The fact that I have to be _careful_is probably the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. But if I slip, he'll die.

Faster, I mean. Faster than I want him to. Because he's going to die, but he's going to do it when I let him.

The boy's eyes meet mine. I think that should stop me, because it's not like I can deny that he's human anymore. It should, but it doesn't, not any more than it did last time. I decide to actually pay attention and return the look, curious as to what I'll see. I see anger mostly, but a sharp glint of fear, too. Obviously. Pain, of course– I shift my blade against his neck until the pain is obvious at first glance; much better– and disgust, which I suppose I don't blame him for. Although he'll certainly pay for it.

I raise my sword slowly. He tenses as the sharp pressure leaves his throat, and I bite back a smirk. I want him to think I miscalculated. He doesn't know I learned everything I possibly could about all of the tributes. Doesn't he know I watched him kill my Miky? He has to know I know what he's going to do.

He doesn't. Of course not. He tries to get away, even though the rest of the Careers will stop him. Or they would, if I didn't stomp on his chest hard enough to break his ribs.

His eyes widen. His breath comes out in a gasp. I wince happily, knowing how much pain he'll be in as soon as he tries to breath in again. I've broken a few of my ribs before. Just two. I can't remember how many cracks I heard when I broke his, but it was more than that. _Ouch. _Now I don't have to worry about him running away. Not fast, anyway.

I take a moment to glance around the clearing. Venesse is sprawled against a tree, groaning. Talon is watching her, I think to avoid watching me. Luster looks bored, an eyebrow raised, like she's not impressed and thinks she could do better. Sol is glancing from me to the new girl, Namitha, who's staring at me with wide eyes. I remember what Sol did during the Bloodbath. He stole my kill. And this isn't just any kill; this is Miky's killer, and he is _mine._

"If you kill him," I say carefully to Sol, wanting to be absolutely sure that my point gets across, "I will kill you. And I will kill the Eight girl, and when I win these Games I will hunt down your family and I will kill them too. Your little sister. What's her name? Nell?"

Sol pales, as though he wasn't pale enough already.

"Yeah, her," I continue with a smirk. "This will be her." I run my sword down the Six boy's arm slowly, distracted from Sol as soon as blood starts to drip from the cut.

We make eye contact again. I can see his bravado leaving him, replaced by panic. This time he's the one who looks away. I grin. Honestly, I don't care how much pain he's in. It doesn't matter, as long as he knows how bad it _could _be. All I want is for him to truly, genuinely regret it. And maybe most people would say that's impossible; that pain can't convince someone that something was wrong, only that they shouldn't have done it. But given some time with those people and a sharp knife, I'm pretty sure I could persuade them that they were just confused. All it takes to convince someone that you're right and they're wrong is enough power. And pain and fear bestow a very significant amount of power.

I hit the heel of my hand against the boy's chest thoughtfully, wondering what the Capitol thinks of this. He gasps, gritting his teeth and flinching as soon as he does. That, I muse, was definitely the worst thing about broken ribs, from what I remember. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to talk, and I can't even imagine how much it would hurt to scream.

But I'm probably scaring sponsors, I think ruefully. I don't want to push it too far, or the Gamemakers themselves might stop me.

Besides, there's always Venesse.

I look up at her, tapping my fingers on the boy's chest absentmindedly and ignoring the fact that he flinches every time. Venesse isn't entirely conscious, but I think she knows what's going on, because she's muttering to herself and squeezing her eyes shut.

Sol seems to notice where my line of sight leads. And I see him make the decision the instant it happens.

"No!" I yell just as he darts toward her. He slashes his knife across her throat. She falls with a sigh, a cannon firing an instant later. I lunge at Sol, but he sprints away, grabbing the Eight girl's arm and fleeing the clearing. I consider chasing him, but I know I won't catch him. Besides, there are still three of us and two of them. We'll get them.

At least that's what I think until I hear a rustling behind me. I whirl and see Luster and Talon's backs vanishing into the swamp in different directions. No. _No._ They do_not_ get to betray me like that. I'm the one who betrays _them,_ don't they know how it works?

I can always show them.

I notice the Six boy's knife on the ground a few feet away from him, but it's not the right kind to throw. Unlike the one in Mika's belt, which most certainly is. I snatch it up and send it flying at Talon in one movement. It thuds into his back, and I smirk as he falls with a cry. Hah. Luster's out of sight now, but I don't care. One against two against one against whomever else is left in the arena.

I turn my attention back to the Six boy as another cannon fires. I've sort of lost my enthusiasm, and I know I should leave the clearing soon for in case any of my former allies get any ideas, so I resolve to scrap my oh-so-_detailed_ plans and just slit his throat. I huff when I notice that he's lying perfectly still, his eyes closed and his head lolling back. Is he even alive? He has to be, doesn't he? There wasn't a cannon. I bend down next to him, trying to figure out whether he's breathing.

The knife. His knife was on the ground, and it's not there anymore.

He lunges with a snarl at the exact moment that I rear backwards, the knife barely missing my face. I can't help being grudgingly impressed. He could have just killed himself, but he wanted to try to get me. Emphasis on the _try._

I swing my sword, slashing his arm again and sending the knife flying. He falls back to the ground, presumably finally hit by the pain from his ribs.

"Nice try, though," I comment neutrally. "You're pretty quick."

"Thanks," he hisses through gritted teeth, closing his eyes again.

"Not quick enough, obviously, but still."

One eye cracks open. "You know, somehow I knew you would go for that one. You're very predictable."

I frown, not sure how I feel about the fact that he's willing to deal with the pain of talking just so he can argue with me. "Shut up," I finally say.

"Gladly."

It occurs to me that this is probably the most civil conversation I've had in the arena. I almost don't want to kill this boy. But a glance at Mika convinces me, and besides, the Six boy is shaking just with the effort of breathing. He'd be completely useless. I frown, cursing Venesse for preventing me from fighting him instead. Mika might still be alive, and that would have been a fun fight. Oh well.

The boy doesn't open his eyes when I lower my sword to his throat, possibly because this is about the eighth time I've done it. But this time it's for real. I sigh and kill him quickly, mentally apologizing to Miky for not making it interesting.

A cannon fires as I stride from the clearing, trying to remember which way Sol went. Now it's personal. No, it was already personal. Now it's… personal squared. Or something like that.

I snicker to myself, pulling a few leaves from a bush and wiping blood from my sword.

**Uh-oh, three different groups of Careers. If you were wondering, the tributes still left in the Games are, in order of District: Sol Ignis and Luster Astriage, Lithe Charm, none from Three, none from Four, Forest Hale and Miriam Mefluia, none from Six, Everlay Martire, Suede Poriskova and Namitha Lakshmi, Jaeger Cline and Ophelia Dyste, Whitfield Vachel, Rosaline Hargrove, and Anne Small.**

**A moment of silence for Talon Creed, who was quite literally stabbed in the back and really wasn't such a bad guy after all, Mika Jensoll, who was also my OC and was cannon fodder from the beginning, Venesse Elvane, who was just too nice for the Careers, but at least her death was quick, Alexis Ismene, my last OC and probably the most painful death scene for me to write (although I'm considering reincarnating him for an original story), and Ari Farest, who would have taken the knife even if she'd known.**

**Oh, the humanity.**


	18. If I Should Die Before I Wake

**So. It's been a month and two days. My apologies for that. But I did promise I'd never abandon, didn't I? Although I must confess, I'm getting the slightest bit bored with this. I still have no intention of abandoning, but you may notice people getting killed off… efficiently, to put it nicely.**

**Ella is Ophelia, the D9 girl, if anyone forgot.**

_[T]hings are entirely what they appear to be and behind them... there is nothing. ~Jean Paul Sartre, _Nausea

**Anne Small, District 12, 14**

There's no water in the woods. Not for us. I guess the animals found some somewhere, or they might not need it. I don't think they're real. Not natural, at least.

We wander back to our spot in the swamp. It's probably not smart to be that close to the pond. Temptation and all. Like Pandora's box.

I half-listen as Ella and Whit talk. I don't know whether I wish I could participate. Not that there's anything stopping me but myself. Ella's nice, like the older sister I never had. I got stuck with Holly instead. Whit's just… Whit. I don't know. He's always trying to cheer us up, mostly me, because Ella's pretty cheerful on her own. I bring the mood down, probably. Whit tries to keep me from feeling scared. It makes it worse. I don't care if I die. What do I have here? Holly and my dad, and now the Games. My mom and my twin, my twin sister, are… wherever else.

But Whit's told us all about his dad and his mom and his brother Warner. I can tell he misses them terribly, and I'm sure they miss him too. So why should he be the one trying to convince _me_ everything will be okay? I don't want him to die. It occurs to me that if I had to pick one person I knew to _not_ die, it would be him, with Ella as a close second. They're maybe even my friends.

Whit flops on his back, tossing and catching the roll that is the sole remaining piece of the meal that fell from the sky on a silver parachute. It was maybe a day's worth of food for one person, but we had no way of knowing who it was for, since it landed right in the middle of us. Not for me, probably. But Whit and Ella agreed that it was probably intended for us to share and shoved a third of it toward me, even though I'm the smallest by far. I shouldn't have taken it. But I did.

I crack a smile when Whit misses the roll, cursing indignantly as it bounces off his nose and across the clearing, finally hitting Ella's foot.

"Oh, brilliant," she laughs. "Our last bit of food and he goes bowling with it."

"My apologies, Milady," Whit says, jumping to his feet and treating her to an exaggerated bow and a smirk. "I was unaware that a bit of mud offended your delicate sensibilities."

"A bit of mud? I wish," Ella grumbles, poking at the ground ruefully.

Whit grins again. "Look at the bright side. It's probably doing wonders for your skin. I'm sure there are Capitol ladies who would just _die_ to be here– Ah, that was morbid, wasn't it? Sorry."

Somehow, the fact that he caught himself makes it funny instead of disturbing. It wouldn't have bothered me, anyway. I'm just along for the ride at this point. It's only a matter of time.

"Want to give the pond a go?" Ella asks out of nowhere. "We've only had a water bottle between us since the beginning, and it doesn't look like we're getting any more. I mean, I know it might kill us, but it's a risk of poison versus guaranteed dehydration."

Whit shrugs. "Why not? It's worth risking poisoning ourselves to be in fighting shape when we run into some Careers."

"Anne? What do you think?"

I freeze as both of them turn to me. "I…?" is all I manage. I finally follow it up with a shrug.

We hesitate at the edge of the swamp, probably all realizing at once that we'll be in full view to anyone in the field or toward the edge of the carnival. There doesn't seem to be anyone, though, and Ella is probably right; this is the only water source we have. It wouldn't make sense for them to poison it, would it?

I look at the pond again. It's really dark. If there was anything in there, a mutt or something, we'd never know.

"Let me drink some first," Ella says firmly. "I'll just have a little. If I feel okay in an hour or so, we can all drink some."

"No!" Whit and I protest in unison.

"Why?" Ella hisses stubbornly. "I'm the oldest!"

"So?" Whit argues. "I'm…" He trails off, and I can tell he's struggling to think of a good argument. I'm pretty sure I know why he wants to do it. He's trying to be chivalrous, or something like that. But he knows Ella and I would never accept it.

I study the bleak water as they argue back and forth. It looks like an everyday pond, really, except for how dark it is. There's a stretch of dry dirt, maybe six feet, between the swamp and the pond. Logically, it should be muddy too, but I guess the Gamemakers wanted it that way. There are clusters of reeds all around the water. They don't look very alive, but not quiet dead either, their stalks a sort of dry, dusty green. It's a color I'd imagine the grass in District Ten looks like. Whit would know, probably.

"I'm bigger!"

"I swallowed rat poison as a kid!"

"What the hell kind of argument do you call _that?_ That's supposed to encourage me to trust your mental state?"

"Let me," I say quietly.

"What… why?" Whit says, obviously shocked. His expression is almost hurt.

"It's not the same for me as it is for you," I explain, staring at the ground. I hope they'll understand what I'm trying to say. That I have nothing to live for. Saying it out loud would be awful to Jon and Holly. If they cared. I'm not sure they would. But I don't want to take the chance.

"Are… are you sure?" Ella whispers. She looks stunned. I don't get why. They were both prepared to do it. Why is it so different when I offer?

"No!" Whit breaks in. "No way."

Ella, I can tell, gets it. Whit still doesn't.

"Yes," I say quietly, crawling out of the swamp without waiting for a reply. Of course, both of them are after me in an instant, neither bothering to check for tributes or traps. Whit actually grabs my arm.

"Anne…"

I shake him off without meeting his eyes and crouch at the edge of the pond. I don't have a cup or anything, I realize. I'll have to put my hand in. I'm sort of surprised that I'm not that nervous. This is what I want to do.

I stretch a hand out calmly. Suddenly, I notice something. The sun doesn't reflect off the pond. This occurs to me at the exact instant that my fingers break the surface.

The pond isn't poisoned. Of course not. That would be ridiculous.

"It's not water," I say matter-of-factly.

And then I'm off-balance. I may have just leaned forward too far, but I think the uncannily dry ground shifted underneath me, just the slightest bit. I hear Whit's gasp and Ella's stifled scream, and then I'm under the surface.

It's not acidic, or hot, or anything like that. I'm not in any pain. What the liquid is is thin, far too thin for me to hope to swim in. It would be like trying to swim in air, if not for the fact that air could give me oxygen.

I can't be far from the edge, but the not-water is over my head, even over my fingertips when I stretch my hands straight up. I reach for a wall. Nothing. Part of me wants to panic, I guess. I don't like not being able to breathe. But I'm calm. It's like being in a dream. It's not so bad, really. The only pain is a slight ache in my chest. It's not too bright or loud. No one's yelling or screaming or attacking me. There's not even anyone I have to talk to.

Something brushes my raised hand. I yelp as it closes around my fingers. It's too dark to see the bubbles containing my breath shoot toward the surface. Although the liquid is so light, they probably don't shoot. I wonder if I can see them after all, meandering toward the surface, rippling with shining black and grey.

The liquid shifts around me like a breeze in the woods. Something is touching my face now, too. Practically clawing at it, clutching at my short hair like it's making sure it's really found me in the darkness. I reach out curiously and find a person.

Ella followed me into the not-water. Maybe on purpose, maybe not. She's going to die, too. And suddenly it's the most important thing in the world that Whit lives.

Ella and I hug each other, even though I've been under for longer and she's really holding me up. I think I might have breathed the liquid in. It's hard to tell. But I know we're thinking the same thing.

Don't try to save us, Whit, I beg silently. You can't. Ella has me and I have her. We're okay.


	19. Far Worse Things

**Told you I'd be back, didn't I? Sorry it took so long. I'll try to be a little better about updating, but I can't promise much, since, alas, I go back to school next week. :/**

_No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible. ~Voltaire_

**Everlay Martire, District 7, 16**

Sort of a funny thing about the Hunger Games. You think you can get to a point where nothing else can happen. You've fallen as far as you can, so to speak; you're numb. They can't hurt you anymore.

No such thing.

And the infuriating thing is, I knew that going in. I totally set myself up for this. I knew I shouldn't get close to anyone, because they'd die or they'd kill me. And I let myself make a friend anyway. Ari saved my life, so it wasn't like I had much of a choice, but still. She was the bravest person I knew. And now she's dead.

So I hope they're happy, I guess. I don't see how they couldn't be. It's not like I can hurt them. I'm still playing the game. Which, I suppose, means I haven't hit rock bottom quite yet, just like I knew. I can see my family in my mind, Teirany grinning like a loon, Rivlyn chasing us around… I still want to live, and I feel like a horrible person because of it.

But that's what the Hunger Games are about, I think. They bring out the worst in people. And the dumbest people in the Capitol just think it's funny to watch us die, but I think this is how the smarter ones stay content. They might question whether the treatment of the Districts is fair, but then, once a year, they have to watch us kill and compete and stab each other in the back. We must look like animals. No wonder they have no sympathy for us. Not that I have any for them.

Rosaline sighs and shifts on the ground next to me. I'm exhausted too, but I can't sleep until she wakes up. We didn't really sleep last night. I can't get the image of that knife sticking out of Ari's chest to leave my head, and I think Rosaline has the same problem.

I let myself slide a bit farther down the tree trunk. Flipping my axe in my hand, I cross my legs and scan the woods in front of me. Nothing moves. I can't decide whether it's promising or eerie, and finally decide that I'm just too tired to care. But I won't fall asleep. The thoughts of what could happen if I do are enough to jolt me awake every time.

I don't know whether I want to keep up the alliance with Rosaline. After all, I made an alliance before, and look where _that_ got me. But I sort of feel like we're unofficially allied. Bonded by trauma, I guess. She sort of reminds me of Ari. They've got that same slightly crazy glint in their eye, like if you push them too far they'll burst into flames and fry you to a crisp. And we've already been sticking together for most of a day.

I yawn and mentally curse myself for it. I had my chance to sleep. I couldn't. I just tossed and turned, not even wanting to close my eyes, because I knew exactly what I'd see. Rosaline tried to comfort me and tell me everything would be okay. It didn't work. There's no such thing as _okay_ anymore.

I scowl and swing my axe at the ground halfheartedly. The blade buries itself in the loamy soil, splitting the myriad of tiny, webbed roots and sending a few beetles scurrying. The rough bark of the tree behind me scrapes my shoulder as I move. For a split second, I'm overtaken by the crazy impulse to cut it down. I want to do it more than anything. I have no idea why, but I know that if that tree fell, everything would be okay. Like a penance. It would be dangerously loud and it could take days of sweat and effort, but if that tree fell, the Capitol would fall, Ari would come back, and I could go home.

"You can go to sleep now if you want."

I'm jolted back to reality by Rosaline's quiet voice. She sits up with a sigh, brushing leaves from her incredibly long brown hair.

I grit my teeth when I realize I can't do it. The noise would get both of us killed. I can't do that to her. It wouldn't be fair. And it wouldn't do anything. Not really.

"I'll try," I reply. I let myself fall to the ground and close my eyes, tensing at the bloody images that immediately appear. Some of them actually happened. Some didn't, and I'm appalled that I could even come up with them. But I just picture myself swinging my axe at that tree, one strike at a time. Not success, but progress. Maybe that's all we need. One way or the other, it blocks the nightmares, and I truly sleep for the first time in days.

**Dusk (Luster) Astriage, District 1, 14**

Ha-hah.

She let me out again. _Again. _Swore she'd never do it and she did, did it twice. Stupid. I'm not going back. Not ever.

I giggle as I run through the woods, swiping my razor-sharp sword at leaves and grinning as they twirl to the ground. Careful, now, I hear my dad say in my head. 'S sharp. Could hurt somebody. Wouldn't want that. Wouldn't want to hurt somebody, would we? Could put somebody's eye out.

I slam my swordpoint into a knot on a tree with a delighted yell. Ooh, Dusk, you put somebody's eye out! Wasn't me, though. Luster did it; she did it, it wasn't me, see? I don't exist, do I?

Well, here I am.

"Now where are you?" I say out loud, turning in a circle. Nothing. No one. But they're here, 'cause they can't _go_ anywhere. That'd be stupid, 'cause how could I kill them if they could run away?

But that's stupid, too. What is it they say? You can run but you can't hide? Yeah. That. Except they can't run, either. Ha-hah. I win.

"Where are you?" I sing out again. I know who's here. I memorized it. Or she did. Don't know why. Almost like she was trying to help me. Ooh, Luster, I think. Careful. Don't help Dusk like that. Got to be careful with Dusk, or she might put somebody's eye out.

"Sol?" I call slowly. Nothing. "Oh, Lithe? Forest? Miriam Ever Suede Namitha Jaeger Whit Rosaline?"

Then I'm mad at myself, 'cause of course I'm not going to find anyone if I go on like that. Stupid, stupid, stupid. They don't like me. I'm a stinky mean ol' Career, aren't I? They're not going to come to me. No problem. I'll find them.

I continue through the woods for a few minutes. I like the sun on the leaves. It's pretty. The patterns on the roots and the soil. Nice. Not like District One. I'm not going back there. I'm going… somewhere else. Not dead, though. Somewhere like here. Nicer.

I notice the two girls just in time to stop myself from calling their attention to me. But I can't tell who they are at a distance. I don't want to kill them 'til I know. No fun. Less, at least.

"You can go to sleep now if you want," one of them says. The other agrees and does so. I scowl angrily. They've got to talk to each other? How am I supposed to know who they are if they don't?

Eh. I'll just ask them.

But oh, wait, what have we here? The awake girl pulls a knife from her belt, glancing from it to the girl on the ground. The sleeping girl's axe drops from her hand. It's picked up quickly by the other one and moved just out of the asleep one's reach. The other bites her lip and raises the knife.

"Oh, that's not nice," I say conversationally.

The girl jumps a mile. She relaxes a bit when she sees me. I'm not surprised. I don't look that scary, young and small as I am. It's fantastic. I can get away with anything I want.

"I haven't even done anything like that," I continue. "And _I'm_ crazy."

She blinks. "Uh… really?"

"Or so I've been told," I say with a shrug. "I dunno, I guess."

I step over the still-sleeping girl on the ground as the other scrambles to her feet. "You didn't seem like it," she says warily. "Not before."

I wave my hand dismissively. "No, no, that was Luster. Bleeding-heart little powderpuff. _I_ am Dusk," I announce grandly.

"Really," she says flatly. "Well. Great."

"Isn't it?" I say with an emphatic nod. I stab her through the arm without further ado, pinning her sword arm to the tree. Her eyes widen as her face forms that perfect expression of shock. The knife drops from her hand. She makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream.

I smirk a little, amused by how surprised she is. I mean, I warned her, didn't I? And on top of that, it was even a perfect hit. Right between the bones. She should be happy. Could've been messy, actually. Not like I put her eye out. Ooh, careful.

"So," I ask. "What's your name?"

The girl only stares at me in pain and disbelief, and an increasing amount of anger. Ooh. Moxie. I do love moxie. But I also want to know her name, so I give the blade a bit of a twist. She screams.

"Hel-lo?" I say impatiently. "Name? District? Give me something, sister."

"Rosaline," she gasps.

Right about then, something very sharp buries itself between my shoulder blades. I _knew _I was forgetting something.

I fall to the ground, helped along by a solid kick to the back of my knees. The girl behind me yanks my sword from the tree and Rosaline's arm. Both of them glare down at me. Rosaline takes the sword slowly, her hand shaking, and holds it to my chest.

"You _are_ crazy," she says softly, her eyes wide and a little distant.

I cough. I taste blood. Not bad. "I've been told," I whisper, before turning my attention to the other girl. "What's your name?"

She turns to Rosaline questioningly, who shrugs and rolls her eyes. The first girl looks puzzled, but answers me, to my surprise. Respect for the dead, and the dying I guess. I've never understood it. Save your respect for the ones that can hurt you.

"Ever Martire. Everlay, really."

I nod, closing my eyes. I can feel my blood draining from my body. It's interesting. Like I'm a tub full of water and somebody's pulled the plug. There's something else, too. Luster. It feels like she's coming back, except I'm not leaving.

I'm not, I'm not, she can't trap me again. I'm never going back.

I don't have to go back. I've been deluding myself. I'm Dusk. I'm Luster.

I'm not. I'm not a killer.

I am a killer.

I haven't killed. I'm both and neither, and it doesn't matter anymore. I'm dying. I'm never going to see my dad again. Why did I do this?

How did I fail? I had them, I _had_ them…

And there's something I have to do. A good deed and a bad one. A painful truth that will probably end in death. I can't find the strength to open my eyes, but I can manage a whisper.

"She was about to kill you, Ever."

**Never have I written this many psychos in the same story. I hope they don't all sound the same. It's a bit of a peculiar experience, to tell the truth.**

**So I hope nobody's particularly mad at me for this chapter. I'm getting to the point where I'm very fond of all the characters I have left, and I have a distressing lack of antagonists, so… yeah, somebody's got to go over the moral event horizon, sorry.**

**As always, reviews appreciated, particularly ones of the not-cussing-me-out persuasion. Although I would totally understand. Once again, I really am sorry, but such is the Hunger Games, amiright?**


	20. Why So Serious

**As you can see, I'm trying to proof this story against those people going around reporting everything. There are a few sort of behind-the-scenes thingamajigs in the first four chapters now, if you're interested. They aren't plot-relevant, but they offer some sneak peaks and insights into a few characters, plus you can meet your Head Gamemaker, which I'm sure you're all eager to do. ;)**

_There are things I have wanted so long that I would only consent to have them if I could keep wanting them. _ ~Robert Brault

**Forest Hale, District 5, 17**

The stars haven't come out since I've been in the arena.

And it's really, really starting to irk me. Because what I'm looking for is hovering just out of my reach, and they're the key to grabbing it. Except not really, because it's not like that. Actually, they _are_ the key, but in a doubly metaphorical way. Like the proverbial key to a code, or more likely another language, not the one that opens a door.

I don't think there's been a clear sky at all, just those constant, low-hanging clouds. They're the type that you just know are going to start raining at the worst possible time. They'll watch you sit in a classroom all day, and the instant you step outside, whoosh. Except sometimes you get lucky and Deli decides she wants to try doing it in the rain.

There was another time, though. Earlier, where it started to rain during school and she met me outside. I remember wondering what in the world she was doing there, standing on the cracked, wet concrete with her hands clasped around her books and water rolling off her old purple raincoat, a few strands of hair that had escaped her hood whipping in the wind. She had to have been standing there for at least half an hour. She was a grade above me, although only a few months older. Her grade got out earlier, ostensibly to allow time for homework. We were eight. I think.

I asked her what the actual hell she was doing, although probably not in those exact words. We were neighbors, weren't we? Why didn't she just wait at my house if she wanted to play? Because she didn't want to play at my house, she said. She wanted to go to the woods and climb the trees while it was storming. See if we could climb to the clouds. She was old enough to know the clouds were miles and miles up, but she was like that. Back then.

So off we went, me carrying both of our books wrapped in her coat and both of us getting soaked. She asked if we should tell her parents where we were going. I shot her down. Trying to be a big, brave guy, I guess. Probably not worth the smacks I got later, in retrospect, but I was an idiot when I was eight.

Back then we were small enough to climb all the way to the top of the trees, those tiny branches that would break with a sound like a gunshot and send me on a fall just as fatal if I tried it now. We climbed to the clouds. Fog, really, but it didn't seem that way. It was windy enough to whip the tree around and almost send us flying, but it didn't, I guess.

If I'd known what I was searching for back then, I could have figured it out. But it hadn't even occurred to me to wonder… whatever. What the end goal is, I guess. If there's a finish line. A payoff, or just a nice job, thanks for playing, better luck next time. And who award the points, and why.

Eight years later, when Deli and I did it in the rain, I asked her if she remembered that day. Because who knew, maybe she wondered the same thing. Maybe she'd even figured it out and she could explain it to me so I wouldn't have to wonder anymore.

She didn't remember. She asked me if I was sure I hadn't just made it up or dreamt it or something. I guess I couldn't be positive. But I was pretty sure. The raindrops falling from her coat, eyes shining underneath the hood… and even more vivid than Deli, the feeling of the wind on my skin and the rain whipping me hard enough to hurt and the tree swaying like the ocean. I didn't make it up. How could she possibly have forgotten?

And right there, it was like her eyes dulled and everything she said just sounded boring and stupid. Just another animal from Ten on a conveyor belt in Nine, slowly sliding to her inevitable conclusion. I wanted to scream. She had been my only hope by that point.

But no, she didn't remember and she didn't want to do this anymore if I was going to start getting sentimental, and what was that about anyway, because she'd always pegged me as the type that wouldn't know sentimentality if jumped out of a tree and hit me with a rubber chicken so what was wrong with me now?

I told her nice metaphor. She said thanks. That was the end of the conversation, and I never brought it up again.

It's a good thing, I muse, that "brooding" is basically my default attitude, because Miriam looks like she's about to ask me something for a second, but obviously changes her mind. Good. I don't mind her as much as most people, but the Eight boy… ergh. I don't _hate_ him exactly. He just gets on my nerves. He's too happy. Although staring at him until he shuts up whenever he tries to make a joke has proven moderately entertaining over the past few hours.

Funny. I was worried about a lot of things. Boring death. Undue pain. Dying before I felt like it. Being bored, not so much. But here I am, staring at the same rotting plank I've been looking at all day. I'm pretty sure that plank is going to haunt my dreams. The three of us have been sitting inside a game booth for a ridiculous amount of time, accomplishing absolutely nothing. Aside from breathing, which I guess is a decent accomplishment under the circumstances.

Suede sighs and bops his knee gently with his giant wooden mallet. I roll my eyes. It's about as intimidating as a banana peel or a whoopee cushion, but it's the only weapon we've got. Aside from Miriam's cotton candy cones. If he can kill a giant robotic clown with it, I suppose it's probably effective enough to keep around.

I'm not sure why I'm still here. I owe Miriam, I guess, and not repaying her wouldn't go with the persona I'm trying to cultivate here. Noble death and all. Except I can't really save her life if nothing dangerous happens. I wonder curiously whether I'm actually evil enough to deliberately land her in danger just so I can save her from it, or better yet, die trying.

Why yes, yes I am.

I bite my lip thoughtfully, wondering where to start with my diabolical plan. It's about then that the clown crashes through the wall.

What.

Again?

I narrow my eyes, staring at it in almost indignant disbelief. Suede and Miriam's reactions are a bit more spectacular, and probably more logical as well. Both of them shoot to their feet. Miriam starts for the door, although she pauses to wait for us. Suede wields his mallet as menacingly as a comically giant hammer can be wielded. Not particularly. Still, good effort.

The clown hasn't moved. I think it's smaller than the last one, maybe six and a bit feet. I wonder whether it has the same teeth.

It grins. Even I wince. Yup. Worse, if anything.

"Time to go," Suede observes, dashing for the door. I follow him without much hesitation. Miriam's already outside, craning her neck to see over our shoulders. Her eyes widen. I resist the urge to turn. As I pass Miriam, I grab her arm and drag her after me. The crashing, ripping noises behind us assure us that the robot or mutt or whatever is hot on our heels. I think this one might be faster.

It's immediately apparent that I'm the fastest runner by far, hurt leg or not. I have a four year plus Y chromosome advantage over Miriam, and Suede's just plain clumsy. I roll my eyes irritably, slowing down and letting them pass me, although I'm not really sure why I'm doing it. It's not like my doing so can directly save Miriam's life. But at least she can't get killed without my permission.

I do a double take when a faded blue sign catches my eye, hanging sadly from an awning: Knife Throw. Huh. Not something I've ever seen in a carnival before, but we're going to run right past it, so whatever. I speed up a bit to buy myself some time. As we pass the booth, I snag two knives from the splintery counter. Not sure how much they'll do against the clown, if anything, but whatever.

This time it's Suede who trips and falls flat on his face. And suddenly I remember I technically owe him my life too, since I did the exact same thing and he saved all of us. Curses.

I turn to face the clown. This one, disconcertingly, does not have a cleaver. This is disconcerting because what it has instead is a large number of very sharp teeth and an expression I could only describe as demonic. Honestly, the thing looks like it crawled straight out of Hell, all slit pupils and razor-sharp claws.

Oh look, it has claws, too. I hadn't noticed that. Brilliant.

Suede yelps and tries to stand. Before I can get my act together and do anything, it lashes out at him, raking the claws that are more like talons across his back. He gasps and falls to the ground.

I take a split second to shoot a don't-you-even-think-about-it death glare at Miriam before throwing myself at the thing. Somehow, I don't get the feeling it was expecting that. I guess I wouldn't either if I was a fanged, clawed demon-clown, but there you go. It really is all relative after all.

I jab a knife at its neck experimentally. The blade scrapes along it with an awful screeching noise, throwing shivers through my hand. Useless. Maybe a slight ding in what I assume is metal, but the clown is still very much alive, and I think I just made things personal.

Hmm. This _is_ a conundrum.

And suddenly I'm dazed and groaning, sprawled against the base of yet another game booth, wondering what just happened. I arrive at the conclusion that I just got judo-thrown by a clown. Interesting. Said clown is also now looming over me, and I observe that its emotional range apparently stretches from unholy, malevolent hunger to smugness. Go figure.

I just stare at it, waiting for Suede's hammer to swing out of nowhere and take the clown down, because that's how things always go, isn't it?

… Isn't it?

The clown goes for my throat. For a split second, I can see past it. Suede's on his hands and knees, an alarming amount of blood dripping from his back. Miriam's staring frantically from one of us to the other like she's watching a ping-pong match. No help from them, then.

I throw myself to the side just in time. I am _not_ getting killed by a clown. Not a chance of literally anything frozen or flammable in hell. People would be laughing at my funeral.

I take a moment to snicker at my own morbid joke before dodging under the clown's arm and running over to Suede. Apparently the clown is knife-proof, but I happen to know it's not giant-wooden-mallet-proof. From what Miriam told me, at least, since I was out cold when that little tidbit was actually demonstrated.

The clown whirls to face me as I snatch up the hammer, wielding it over my head like the torch of civilization itself. The clown roars. Not roars like an angry person roars, _roars._ I stare at it for a moment, thoroughly nonplussed, then swing the mallet straight into its face.

Nothing at all. It doesn't even blink.

Hmm.

I risk a glance behind me. Suede's still on the ground. Miriam's just standing there, obviously at a total loss. I can't quite say I blame her. Our options seem to be running out remarkably quickly. We can't fight it. We can't run. Or Suede can't, at least. But that makes me wonder if maybe…

I take a careful step to the side, willing it to keep its attention on me and not just rip Suede's head off, because there's absolutely nothing between them right now. As I'd hoped, the clown creeps forward. I shoot it my meanest, most superior smirk. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's pissing off things that are dumber than me. Another step back for me. Another step forward for the clown. I turn and run, noting with satisfaction that the monster is indeed following me, just like I'd hoped.

Now to follow through with the rest of the plan. Step one: Come up with a plan.

Well, let's see. I am being pursued through a carnival by either a mutt or a robot resembling a fanged, bloodthirsty clown. I am unarmed, since I dropped my knives to pick up the mallet. I am already tired, since the clown was chasing us for a while before we stopped to scuffle with it. Whatever I'm going to do, I need to do it soon.

The rides and booths begin to thin out, replaced by the somewhat distant swamp on the horizon. But between the two is the pond. I run straight at it, hoping that the clown is indeed a robot, since a robot seems significantly less likely than a mutt to be waterproof. The barren ground slopes down the slightest bit, almost sending me headfirst into the water. I slow down a little. I need the clown to be right behind me.

It growls in my ear. _Right_ in my ear. Clearly, it was closer than I thought. I flinch and basically dive on the ground just a few feet from the pond, counting on the clown's inertia to keep it going. It works beautifully. Except for the fact that the clown's foot slams into my ribs, knocking the breath out of me and dragging me almost into the water. Still, the clown itself bellyflops in. And it's gone.

Well, obviously. That was the point. But I'd expected it to sink slowly, if at all. Ponds are usually shallow and muddy toward the edge, right? Not this one, apparently. It's like the clown just ran off a cliff.

I struggle to get my breath back, sprawled at the pond's edge, staring after the clown with my nose an inch from the unnaturally still water. And then I notice… is something…?

Moving. White closer closer teeth FUCK.

I rear back from the water with a strangled yelp. The other monster shoots through the surface like a scream from dead silence. It probably has an appearance. All I see is teeth. Right where my face was.

I keep staring at the spot where it vanished for a good few seconds after it's gone, thoroughly shell-shocked. I was _not_ ready for that. But at least now I know to keep away from the pond. And it's entirely possible that I'm the only one who knows, I realize. I decide it's going to stay this way. If Miriam or Suede suggests the pond, I'll discourage it– even I'm not cutthroat enough to knowingly feed someone I'm ostensibly allied with to that thing– but I'm not bringing it up. Maybe it can claim a few more victims.

I finally stumble to my feet and start back to where I left them, realizing Miriam probably thinks I'm dead. It also occurs to me that I just saved both of their lives. We're even. I could just walk away. And I almost do it, too. But I don't, and I don't know why.

Miriam's eyes widen when she sees me. She stifles a shriek, sprints over, and throws her arms around me, hugging me tight enough to make me wince. The fact that the clown's foot probably cracked a rib isn't helping. But I don't pull her off.

Because I think I might have found another part of the answer.

**And Forest takes a hit from the rubber chicken of sentimentality. Don't worry, he's not going soft on you. Sorry for only having one POV in here. I sort of ran out of steam toward the end. Next chapter will be Namitha Lakshmi (D8F), probably Whit Vachel (D10M) and either Ever Martire (D7F) or Rosaline Hargrove (D11F) if I'm feeling inspired.**

**Reviews are nice.**


	21. Six for Gold

**My apologies once again. Sophomore year is pretty much kicking my ass so far, but I've got a few spare hours right now, which I suppose is a good sign.**

**Disclaimer: I suck at romance. Seriously. Don't come after me with torches and pitchforks for this, please.**

_Not a shred of evidence exists in favor of the idea that life is serious. ~__Brendan Gill_

**Namitha Lakshmi, District 8, 16**

I do _not_ have a crush on Sol. Uh-uh. No way. Not a chance. Hell, I can count the reasons why.

Number one: He's barely two inches taller than me, and I'm tiny. Number two: He's even klutzier than I am, which is saying something. Number three: The boy is a _ginger_, for goodness' sake. Number four: He's got these crazy, creepy cat eyes, mostly green with a ring of yellow. Although I guess it's also kind of cool. Or at least interesting.

But that doesn't matter, because I _do not like him._ Not even remotely. I mean, why would I be that stupid? It's the Hunger Games, isn't it? He's a goddamn Career. How could I possibly trust him? I mean, I guess he saved me from Lithe, sort of, but…

I groan and cross my arms, slumping farther down the trunk of the tree. This is an absolute nightmare. No joke. I mean, first the whole fiasco with the Career pack, and now this: the swamp. It was no problem for the first few days, but apparently the Gamemakers decided to make things a little more interesting, because they've trapped us on a little island. We had stopped to rest there after running from Lithe. When we tried to leave again, we sunk up to our knees before we realized the ground was way softer than it had been before.

Sol strolls past my face again, making another circuit around our little island. It can't be more than ten feet in diameter, but he's been at this for at least twenty minutes now, poking at the ground with my halberd and muttering to himself. I guess I don't blame him. I'm getting pretty restless myself, but unfortunately the halberd is the only ground-poking implement we've got handy, so I can't join him.

"Fuckshitdamnhell," Sol says irritably, flopping onto the ground next to me. Even the ground on our island is barely dry enough to support us.

"Hear, hear," I agree dolefully.

Sol laughs quietly. "Yeah, exactly. You up for twenty questions?"

I blink, staring down at him like he'd just suggested we follow Lithe Charm. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I don't know," he says with a shrug, which has to be a tricky thing to pull off when he's lying on his back. "Nothing much better to do, is there?"

"I guess," I sigh.

Sol grins, chucking the halberd onto the other side of the island absentmindedly. I dive after it with a yelp even though there's not really any chance it's going to sink. He raises an eyebrow. "Why the alarm?"

I shove the halberd at him, picking up his knife, which he'd left next to me while he was pacing, and waving both in his face. "Uh-uh. Hell no. If I've got to play twenty questions with you I will, but you are going to be holding a weapon while we're doing it, thank you very much."

He gives me a weird look. "Uh… why?"

"Because the Gamemakers didn't trap us here for our health. We might have a while, but _something's _going to come after us eventually. And you, Mr. Career Training, are going to be the one to fight it."

Sol laughs again and takes the halberd. "Fair enough. I'll take this since you're more likely to kill yourself or me with it than anything else. You hang onto the knife, though."

"Great. Fine." I stick my head around the trunk of the tree, scanning for any mutts or whatever coming through the swamp. Nothing. "You want to go first?"

"I'd love to." He thinks for a moment. "Any siblings?"

"One. Niko. She's a total loon. She annoys the hell out of me but I love her very much, and I know she'll be making fun of me if there's a camera on us right now."

"She might pretend to, but she'll be touched," Sol says.

I snort. "Yeah, sure. My turn. Worst fear?"

He raises his eyebrow again. "That's a suspicious question. Are you plotting my downfall?"

"Why yes, yes I am," I say serenely. "As we speak."

"Damn," he comments. "All right then. Spiders."

I gasp. "Me too! I don't trust them."

"They always seem like they're up to something," Sol agrees, narrowing his eyes. "My turn again. Where'd your earrings come from?" He gestures to the three gold teardrops in my right ear. I notice with surprise that he has three earrings in his right.

"Family heirloom. No idea aside from that. Any cool scars?"

For answer, he sits up and pulls the back of his shirt up a few inches, revealing a long, delicate scar across the small of his back. "Jackass chucked a sword at me when I beat him. What are your parents like?"

So this is the Hunger Games, I think wonderingly. I don't even know how to feel right now. I'm actually enjoying myself, which just makes it worse. Because, just like every other tribute who's ever been, I have to face than painful truth: there can only be one Victor.

And I'm nervous, too. Because the Gamemakers didn't trap us here for a reason. Something's coming. It's only a matter of time.

**Whitfield Vachel, District 10, 14**

I still haven't left the side of the pond. I can't. I'm not sitting right by the edge, at least, but I'm easily in sight of it.

I spent last night staring at the water like its surface was the portal between life and death. It is, in a way. It barely ripples. Ella and Anne went through it. Now they're dead. I didn't, and here I am. I keep expecting them to climb out, disheveled and frightened but alive. Sometimes, at least. Sometimes, just for a few seconds at a time, I get it. When I look up, the world seems bright and sharp and distant, like a tapestry on a castle in the clouds. Like I could throw a stone through it as easily as the surface of the pond, except maybe there would be something on the other side.

And then I come back to earth with a thump, bounce off a bit, and have to reel myself back in. I'm still alive. This is real. I can't start getting all depressed and hopeless. Not because it'll get me killed. Because that's not who I am. I mourned them all night and I'll miss them as long as I live, however long that might be, but I know I need to snap out of it. There's a world outside this arena. I can escape. Warner's out there, and my dad. Out there I can pick fights with bulls and pull pranks and maybe even grow up if I ever feel like it, which I doubt.

But first there's this. It's as fake as it seems. But the arena I'm staring at isn't the ultimate border between life and death, as much as the Gamemakers might like to think it is. It's just a world in a bubble. A lot of people will die in it, yeah, but there's no magical power here. Just people and mutts and ponds full of something that most certainly isn't water. That, and the monster that tried to eat the Five boy yesterday evening.

I stand up abruptly and set off along the edge of the swamp without the slightest clue what I'm doing. I arrive at the carnival's fence pretty soon. It doesn't come into the swamp, but it starts right at the edge of it, winding off along the edge of the not-water to the Cornucopia.

The Cornucopia. I consider it. No one's come near it all day, although almost all of the remaining Careers dropped by at some point yesterday. It's possible that they're watching it, I guess, but somehow I doubt it. I'm pretty sure the Career pack has splintered, and no lone tribute would be willing or able to stake out the Cornucopia for a day straight.

It's a chance worth taking, I finally decide. I need food and water, and maybe a bigger weapon than a knife. Heck, maybe _I _can stake out the Cornucopia. But I've got to get there without getting killed first.

I take a single hesitant step out of the swamp, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing. Another step. Everything's totally still, except for some stalky yellow grass waving gently along the bottom of the fence. One last step and I know I'm in full view. I stay like that for a good few seconds, knowing that I'm still close enough to the swamp to bolt if something comes at me. Nothing does.

With nothing else for it, I sprint toward the Cornucopia as fast as I can, half-expecting someone to come flying out of nowhere with a sword. To my own surprise, I reach the tail of the golden horn intact. Weapons and supplies litter the ground Now what? I shove my knife in my belt and pick up a short sword out of the dust. A whip catches my eye. I consider it. I know how to use one, sort of. My friend Jami, who works with horses, taught me how. It's certainly got better range than either of my other weapons, and it's not like I can't get rid of it. It can't hurt. I loop it over my shoulder and around my waist a few times, sticking the handle into my belt next to the knife.

I pick up a backpack next. It's brown, thankfully, and already has two full water bottles and some fruit in it. The fruit is a bit softer than I prefer, but definitely edible for a few more days at least. I shove a few more packets of food into the bag, two more water bottles, and an extra knife for just in case.

So. I'm not starving to death anytime soon. Now all I have to do is commit murder. I sigh and start along the side of the Cornucopia toward the mouth, high-stepping over tridents and tents. I wonder whether anyone else will actually try to get supplies. It occurs to me that I could be jumping in over my head. What if it's Lithe, or maybe the One boy? Nine boy? Maybe this isn't such a good idea. Maybe I should just–

I freeze. There's already someone in the horn.

**Who could it be? How will this end? *gasp* You'll have to wait and find out, because I'm feeling rather vindictive today. But hey, I haven't killed anyone in two chapters now, so you should be grateful for that at least, no? :)**


	22. My Soul to Take

**Ello poppits. I'm going to be doing NaNoWriMo this year, so you might not hear from me until December. But I'm like that annoying kid in your second grade class; I always come back.**

**Oh, and I've decided to start actually writing what I'm thinking rather than toning it down a little. So, yup, happy reading.**

_ What broke in a man when he could bring himself to kill another? ~Alan Paton _

**Everlay Martire, District 7, 16**

I stomp through the forest in a bit of a daze, trying to decide how I feel about what happened a few hours ago. I mean, Rose almost died. And she almost killed me. And oh yeah, I killed someone.

I twirl my axe absentmindedly. Honestly, I don't know what to think anymore. I guess it's true what they say: you really can't trust anyone. Except that's sort of a lie too, which means that…

I curse quietly, realizing I just logic bombed myself.

Still, Rose is a good person. I honestly don't think she would have done it. I mean, I stood there in shock for a good few seconds after Dawn or whatever the psycho One girl's alter ego was died. Rose could've killed me easily then, but she didn't. I looked up to find her staring at me, her sword not even raised. She glanced from my face to my axe and back, like she was just waiting to see what I would do.

Not kill her, apparently. I just ran out of the clearing before I could really think about it. But I think I'd do the same thing if I could replay it. Our alliance was irreparably damaged, but I still didn't want to hurt her. Just walking away was the best idea.

Well, whoop-de-doo for me. Now what?

I realize that I've emerged from the swamp on the far side of the pond. There are scuff marks in the dust on the side nearest the carnival, like someone almost fell in. Or maybe they _did_ fall in. After a moment, I notice more marks right in front of me.

I take a few steps back. I've got a bad feeling about the pond. Not a feeling, really. More of a straightforward logical conclusion that some pretty bad stuff went down here.

The Cornucopia glints temptingly in the middle of the clearing, red in the cloudy sunset. My stomach growls. I don't see anyone, and I know the Career pack broke, mostly because a stray one tried to kill my ally. I could _probably_ get to the horn without getting killed. Probably.

My stomach growls again.

It's the Hunger Games, after all, I think wearily. _Probably _is the best I'm going to get.

A few seconds of unadulterated terror later, I've got a backpack full of supplies. I turn to head back into the woods and do… what?

Hide. Run. Wait for someone to kill me.

I think of my family. Tierany, Rivlyn. Ash, my best friend. I want to make it back to them. But I want them to want me back, and that's the tricky part. They care about _me._ They don't want a crazy murderess back in my place. So the question is, how far can I go before it isn't worth it anymore?

Well, how far have I already gone? I'm a killer. But as far as murders go, I know the one I committed was toward the light end of the morality scale. Killing a Career who was trying to kill my then-ally… it doesn't seem to _count,_ somehow. Although I doubt the District One girl's family would see it that way.

There's no way I'm making it home without killing again. That much, I know. So do I want to die innocent right now– relatively speaking, at least– or fight and kill, and maybe die anyway? I honestly don't know. Deep down, maybe, but under these circumstances I have no idea what to think.

I duck inside the Cornucopia on a whim. If no one comes, so be it. If someone does, then either I'll kill them or they'll kill me, and then at least I'll know. And I've cornered myself, too. It'll be self-defense. Premeditated self-defense.

Honestly. Only in the Hunger Games.

So I wait. And wait. And wait some more, munching my food and sipping water. I never put my axe down. No matter how long it takes, I refuse to be caught by surprise.

The sunrise wakes me up.

Well. So much for not getting caught by surprise. Although no one murdered me, in a shocking twist of fate. I sit up silently, shaking my hair out of my face and wishing for a shower. Honestly, the Gamemakers are so inconsiderate. The least they could do is provide us with some basic hygienic items.

I'm about to poke my head out of the horn when I realize that it might not have been the sun that woke me up. There's a noise. Shuffling. Clinking. Someone's out there.

I take my axe and rise to my feet, thankful that the Cornucopia is big enough for me to stand up in. My heart pounds and I start to second-guess my decision. Who could be out there? Do I really want to kill them? What if they kill me?

I look at the axe in my hand and flinch at the painfully sharp metal, imagining it splitting someone's skin and coming back bloody. Not just skin. It could probably cut through bone. If I really want to hurt someone with it, I want to try to kill them with one hit. Again. But how? It would be next to impossible to get their throat or back without them stopping me. Their chest? Could my axe slice clean through a rib cage and into someone's heart? I'm not sure. Their head?

A shadow falls over me. Someone's here.

**Jaeger Cline, District 9, 16**

See, now, this is what I just don't get about people.

I'm confusing myself, too. I should have killed her by now. The Eleven girl, that is. But now that I've caught up to her, I'm not sure what to do.

I've been tracking her since she got away from me, mostly for lack of anything better to do. I haven't run into anyone else. I found the spot where she and her remaining ally spent last night just as dusk began to fall. There was blood on the ground. I waited for the faces in the sky, and neither she nor the Seven girl showed up.

What I assumed were the Seven girl's footsteps leaving the clearing were older, and really obvious, like she had run away. The Eleven girl's were from a few hours later. Hers, I knew for sure. I had been tracking them for days, after all. Not obsessively. Not really. Just because they were there. Track, catch, kill. That's how you play the game.

Maybe a _little_ obsessively.

But now I've found her. She apparently followed the Seven girl after whatever happened between them. I don't know where Seven is, but Eleven is crouched at the edge of the woods maybe ten yards in front of me, tense. Watching something.

I could walk up behind her and stab her. She wouldn't hear me coming, but she still might scream. They tend to do that. I could clap a hand over her mouth, but that's not really a guarantee. Who knows what she's looking at? I don't want it coming after me if she shrieks and gets its attention.

I creep to the edge of the woods, keeping enough distance between us that she won't detect me unless something completely unforeseeable happens. It takes me a few seconds to figure out what she's so interested by. A boy is rooting around the weapons surrounding the Cornucopia. I don't recognize him at first glance, but he looks like one of the younger tributes, a little skinny with dust-colored hair.

He heads for the mouth of the Cornucopia, suddenly purposeful. And then he freezes. A few feet away from me, the Eleven girl gasps.

Honestly, does she understand how these Games work at _all?_ You keep your mouth shut unless you have absolutely no choice. Tracker jackers are a reasonable excuse. Shock is not.

I take a moment to look over my shoulder on the off chance that fate is feeling ironic today. No drooling mutts, fortunately.

The Seven girl, I assume, is inside the Cornucopia. She and this boy may or may not fight, and the Eleven girl may or may not interfere. The question is, what do _I_ do?

Kill the Eleven girl, first of all. The other two would be distracted by each other even if she screamed. If I still have the element of surprise, I'll take out whoever's left between them.

I slip through the brush toward the girl, gripping a long hunting knife in both hands. But just when I'm close enough to touch her, she launches herself away from me, out into the open.

For a moment, I'm horrified by the thought that she actually heard me coming. But a yelp from the direction of the Cornucopia changes my mind. She's going to help the Seven girl.

I roll my eyes and lean against a tree, watching impatiently as she sprints across the small field. This is just… just… honestly, what is _wrong_ with people? Why would anyone do something like that? It's suicidal. It's pointless. It's stupid.

I'd do it for Chell.

The thought is there and gone before I even register it. When I finally do, my eyes actually widen. I most certainly would not run into certain death for her. She's useless. She can't hunt. Who cares if she's my sister? Not the Reaping Ball, that's for sure. Seven years from now, she could be in my place.

Although technically it's not _certain_ death. And I guess she's not _totally_ useless. She always packed food for me when I went hunting. And sometimes I'd catch so much game that I'd get some kind of a bonus, even something simple like a cup of blackberries. Dad would just give me a curt nod and Mom would smile for a split second, but Chell would cheer and jump up and down and skip around the house. She couldn't run, but she could skip. It was weird.

Blackberries. Not blueberries. Blackberries. That's what it was. Her favorite food.

I'm snapped out of it by a high-pitched scream. For a split second, I have the crazy idea that it's Chell. I'm halfway out of the swamp before I even have time to think about it.

I scoot back under cover an instant later, calling myself every nasty name I can think of. Am I losing it? I can't lose focus. I never lose focus.

I grit my teeth and turn my attention back to the drama at the Cornucopia. And drama it is. The boy is on the ground. I can't tell what happened to him, but I see blood. The Seven girl has backed up against the rim of the horn, one hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide. And the Eleven girl has almost reached them.

As I watch, the boy stumbles to his feet unsteadily. He looks over his shoulder. I've seen that look. He's hurt and he's terrified. I don't know what he's going to do, but it won't be anything–

_Swoosh._

– Good.

The Seven girl screams again, clutching her stomach. The boy stands by as she falls to her knees. I know that daze, too. I've seen it. It's the one that people who aren't killers get when they kill, whether it's a squirrel or a girl.

Then the Eleven girl arrives. The boy spins to meet her, clumsily parrying her sword. They exchange blows while the Seven girl slowly crumples to the ground. I don't have to be close to tell that some of their strikes are hitting home. I can hear the boy's gasp as her blade whips across his chest. He swings back wildly, and suddenly there's blood dripping from her forehead. It blinds her for a second, and suddenly the boy's sword has sunk into her chest. Not all the way to the hilt. He's squeamish, I can tell. Not a killer. But it will be enough.

The boy freezes for a second, then turns to run. And falls with an axe in his back. Nice throw for a dying girl.

I give them twenty seconds to stand. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that "dying" and "dead" aren't the same thing. Not even close. If a dying animal has enough strength to stand, it has enough strength to do you some serious damage.

But none of them show any sign of recovery. A cannon fires. The boy, I think. His injuries were the worst.

I leave the cover of the woods. It's risky. But there's a bit of a code among the hunters of District Nine. You kill, but you don't let your prey suffer. Even if an animal isn't your prey, you put it out of its misery if that's the right thing to do.

The Eleven girl looks up. The Seven girl doesn't. She has her eyes shut tight, leaning against the Cornucopia with her legs pulled up to her chest. I can't see the wound, but I can see the blood.

The Eleven girl's wound is horrific, even among the ones I've seen. The boy's sword punctured a lung. I can't necessarily see it, but I don't need to. I can hear it.

She glares at me, the most hateful, spiteful, burning look I've seen in my life. "You–" she sputters, but she doesn't even seem able to finish the sentence.

"Sorry," I find myself saying. Sorry for what, I don't know. Killing her allies? Watching her get struck down without interfering? Killing her now? Should I feel sorry? I don't.

She closes her eyes and bites her lip, a whimper escaping anyway. She's shaking. "If you win…" she gasps. "You can't win. You're…"

"It doesn't matter," I say, a little impatiently. "I'm here to kill you. I'll walk away if you want me to, but I can make it hurt less."

Her eyes widen. She lets her head loll back so that she's looking at the Seven girl. "Ever?"

"Hmm?" she squeaks.

"I'm sorry."

The Seven girl– Ever, I suppose– opens her eyes. They're shiny, but she isn't crying. "It's okay," she says gently. "I understand." She doesn't seem to have the strength to say more than that.

I roll my eyes. Honestly, I'm trying to do a good deed here. They could at least stop being so emotional.

"Okay. You two done?" I say flatly.

The Eleven girl bites her lip again. "Yeah."

I lean down and slit her throat. A cannon fires almost instantly, not quite drowning out the Seven girl's gasp. Ever. Everlay, actually, I finally remember. I guess I probably should have given her a bit more warning so that she could look away. Whoops.

I glance up at her. "Well?"

She stares at me like a cornered deer, shrinking back against the Cornucopia.

"I won't if you don't want me to," I shrug. "But stomach wounds are bad." The tiny bit of empathy in me warns me not to elaborate on exactly what stomach acid can do once it gets in your bloodstream.

"Okay," she says, her voice small. Then stronger, "Do it."

She closes her eyes. My red blade slides through her skin. Cannon.

I grab some supplies and lope back into the woods, realizing that I never want to do anything like that again. I'm a hunter, not an executioner.

I hope Chell wasn't watching.

**... Sorry. You guys know I love you, right?**


	23. Too Bad So Sad

**Hello. Sorry for taking forever and a day to update. And having a really dumb chapter title. But the bell just rang, so, yeah. I'll fix that later. Maybe.**

**Anyway.  
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_I hear they burn for murder. Well, they say it just takes a second to die. ~Lee Harvey Oswald_

**Lithe Charm, District Two, 18**

I haven't been to the carnival yet. I think I might visit it. I've been wandering around for a while now without any sign of the other tributes, aside from three cannons a while ago.

I glance up at the sky as I lope past the Cornucopia, smirking a bit at the sight of the blood on the ground. The sky's clear tonight, for the first time in the arena. Not totally– there are still a few feathery clouds forming patterns over the stars– but close. The moon's full, too. It's pretty bright, considering that it's the middle of the night. I can't decide whether it's pretty or eerie. Cold, I finally decide. I mean, it's warm out, but the sky looks cold. Like I could get sucked up into it and held in the freezing silver.

I shiver and keep jogging. The ground is a little muddy, even though it hasn't rained.

And like the Gamemakers have read my mind, I feel drops of water on my arm. More like a mist, really. I pull my sword out for no real reason, watching the fine droplets collect on it, shining pale white on the metal. It's a pretty color, but not my favorite. I want this sword stained red. It looks so good red. It's the richest color in the world. Unmistakable. The steel looks like satin when it's bloody.

The carnival's awnings are bowing slightly under the moisture already, the bright colors a bit dulled. The dirt is disturbed in the middle of the path cutting the carnival in two, like a few people sprinted up it. I follow the tracks, a smile creeping across my face as a sudden cold breeze rolls from behind me, lowering the temperature ten degrees and whipping my silvery hair around my face. Someone's around here. I can feel it. I'm not even following the tracks anymore.

I salute an eight-foot-tall plastic clown statue as I pass it. I'm pretty sure it winks back, metal teeth gleaming red. It won't attack me. Not now. Tonight's my night.

I hope it's Sol. That would be… nice.

My smile widens. I twirl my sword absentmindedly, glancing around. Still nothing. Movement, yes. Awnings and flags ripple, and the fine mist that has quickly become a downpour shimmers down the Test-Your-Strength pole. There's no mallet, which seems a little strange.

I find myself drawn to the carousel. The mirrors and paintings of circus scenes ringing the top are dull in the moonlight, but something must be illuminating the underneath, because the horses and tigers and other animals frozen on it are blood-bright.

Mutts, I realize with an equally bright smile. But they won't attack me either. I lean into a tiger's face, stroking its too-realistic fur. Its eyes glimmer. It, too, seems to return my smile.

I turn sharply. They're here. They can see me. But I can't see them, and I don't like it. I imagine I see eyes in the shadows around the game booths.

There.

I stride toward a booth purposefully. The effect is instantaneous.

"Run!" a girl's voice calls. Namitha or Miriam. Probably Miriam. Namitha's with Sol, and he'd try to fight me. Moron.

"Ooh, yes, run," I crow, my smile morphing into a full-on evil grin. Honestly, why have I been staying with the Careers? This is way more fun. They're all mine.

Miriam and two boys, Five and Eight, tumble out of the booth. Well, Miriam and the Eight boy do, at least; Five sort of strolls. I can tell at a glance that Eight is injured. I frown. That's no fun. Clearly, out of the trio, it's the Five boy who's going to make things interesting. A knife glimmers in his hand, and he's giving me that even, thoughtful look that some of the more dangerous Careers from home tend to wear.

I'll save him for last, I decide.

They seem to realize instantly that the Eight boy– what's his name? Suede, that's it– can't really run. The classic martyr-y_ leave me here and save yourselves_ argument kicks off instantly. Five is the only one who seems to even remember I'm standing there. He casts me a worried look.

"Oh, take your time," I say nonchalantly, leaning my sword against my hip and inspecting my nails.

**Suede Poriskova, District Eight, 15**

We couldn't have outrun her anyway. It makes me feel a little better. Not much, but it's better than nothing.

I think the clown's claws were poisoned. Or infected with something. I can't see my back, obviously, but I don't really think I want to. Miriam winces ever time she looks at it, and even Forest looks a little sick. I've spent the last several hours lying on my stomach, shivering, even though it was pretty hot out until about two minutes ago.

So, yeah, I'm screwed. Which is why I wish Forest would drop the noble act and get the actual hell out of here. I wonder if he realizes Miriam would run if he did. He's got to. He's smart. So he's not being noble, really. I've yet to figure out what makes him tick, but I figure that's another thing I'm probably better off not knowing.

Fortunately, the psycho Two girl seems willing to wait until we settle this. She probably thinks it's funny. It is, I guess, in a twisted sort of way. I should know.

I shoot Forest my best death glare, which probably isn't particularly intimidating, but it's worth a shot. Miriam peeks at me from behind him, bouncing on the balls of her feet nervously and glancing over at Two every couple of seconds.

"Would you two run?" I hiss, leaning against the wood of the game booth for support. I can feel the exact lines of the scratches, white-hot slashes of pain through the almost cold burn of the skin between. Something's dripping down my back. Maybe blood, maybe something worse. My knees feel like they're about to buckle, and I've got a pounding headache, like maybe whatever's eating my back has decided to colonize my brain too.

"Won't work," Forest whispers. "She'll kill you in ten seconds and come for us."

"So we fight her three on one?" I say dubiously, glancing over at the Career again. She's whistling cheerfully now. "That's not really fair."

"For us."

"That's what I meant."

"Oh."

Neither of us seems to have anything to say after that. For a few seconds, at least. Then Forest tilts his head thoughtfully.

"Hey Miriam?"

"Yes?"

"Scram."

She blinks. "What?"

"You heard me. Get out of here."

"No."

Now Forest looks nonplussed. "Why the flipping flip not?"

"Because I'll never win if you two die. You know that. Suede's right. We should fight together."

"You really should," the Two girl chips in brightly, smiling. I swear her teeth are sharper than normal people's.

"Looks like you're outvoted," I tell Forest, gritting my teeth when a drop of water trickles down my neck and onto my back. Water makes it worse. We learned that the hard way when Miriam tried to wash the poison off earlier. It was like throwing a match onto flammable acid.

Forest glances up at the sky and sighs. "Your funeral."

"Hey, good one."

He gives me a look. Then, to my surprise, he half-smiles. "Thank you."

We all glance up at Two. I heft my mallet weakly. Forest raises his knife. Miriam pulls one out too, presumably one of the ones Forest grabbed while the clown was chasing us.

Two claps her hands, the motion almost businesslike. "Well, are we ready?"

"Not really," Forest grumbles. He seems distracted again, glancing up at the sky like he wishes it would tell him something.

"Too bad!" the girl chirps.


	24. Pick Your Poison

**Long wait again, sorry. I'm still working on my NaNo, and indoor track started, so, yeah. But I've got the rest of it all planned out now, and I'm pretty psyched. The deaths are going to be quite spectacular from now on. Mwahahahahah. :)**

_82:11 When the sky is rent asunder; when the stars scatter and the oceans roll together; when the graves are hurled about; each soul shall know what it has done and what it has failed to do… every soul will stand alone._ ~Koran

**Namitha Lakshmi, District 8, 16**

The rain begins to fall harder, and Sol sighs resignedly, picking up the halberd.

"What?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I know what he's thinking.

"Gamemakers," he replies. "This rain came on way too fast. Something's going to happen."

I pick up the knife and test the mud surrounding our little island again. This time, although my foot sinks up to the ankle, I find solid ground.

"I guess we're supposed to leave now," I say. "Think we should?"

Sol bites his lip. The rain falls harder. The moon and stars are hidden completely, and the trees block the clouds' slight glow. I probably wouldn't be able to see him at all if he wasn't so pale he practically glows in the dark. We shiver simultaneously as the temperature nosedives again, way too quickly to be natural.

Sol freezes and whips toward me. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

He puts a finger to his lips, and I listen carefully. The rain on the leaves is pretty loud. But there's something else, too. Snapping and rustling. Too loud for a tribute.

"Mutt," he whispers. "Time to go."

I nod wordlessly. Sol points toward the center of the arena and starts jogging, making less noise than I'd expect for someone his size. I can still hear whatever's behind us. But it's different now. More rustling than snapping, and it's… higher? I think it is. The mutt's in the trees.

I risk a glance over my shoulder. The treetops are swaying wildly, silhouetted jet black against the dark grey sky. There's way too much movement for me to really see anything. Certainly enough to imagine it, though.

"Fuckshitdamnhell," Sol mutters under his breath.

It's hard to breathe in the wind, which has turned into a goddamn hurricane in the last five minutes, whipping the rain through the swamp. The ground is getting muddier by the second. I hope the Gamemakers don't just decide to drown us after all. They wouldn't. Would they?

I turn again at something in the corner of my eye. Glowing red. What on earth would a red light be doing in the swamp?

Then I see it again, closer this time, but still fifteen feet above the ground. A shadowy shape flies between two trees. It's sort of like a primate, but not one I've every seen. There's something… jagged about it. Even from this distance, I'm pretty sure I saw claws. Plus, you know, glowing red eyes. Probably not a good sign.

"I saw it too," Sol huffs before I can say anything. I can see that he's getting tired, and I am, too. Really tired, in fact.

"How far?" I say breathlessly.

"Don't know. You okay?"

I don't quite know how to answer that one, so I don't. I wonder whether we're even going in the right direction.

We flinch in unison as the shape swings straight across our path. It turns straight toward us, and even though I can't make out any details of its face except the eyes, I know it sees us. It disappears again, faster than before.

Sol stops. "Do you think we should– _Namitha!"_

Something runs into me hard enough to make me stumble. I shriek, but only for a moment, before the mutt's cold, furry arm wraps around my neck. I feel teeth in my shoulder, and warm blood running down my arm an instant later. The mutt shifts to get a better grip, and its teeth dig deeper. Something tears and I feel the teeth scrape bone.

It smells wrong. Not like a wild animal. Instead of wet fur, I smell disinfectant. Something metallic. A laboratory.

There's a flash of metal and the mutt's teeth are torn from my skin. Sol's arm circles me, and he pulls my good arm over his shoulders. I find myself trembling, staring straight ahead as he pulls me through the swamp. I can see more of them. I think. I could just be imagining it. Lightning flashes, and the thousands of damp leaves all seem to glow red.

Sol stops running. I realize that we're at the Cornucopia. He lowers me to the ground gently, then flops down next to me, gasping for breath.

"Thanks," I say weakly. I feel dizzy and a little sick. I'm angry at myself for it. So a mutt almost killed me, so what? This is the Hunger Games. What was I expecting?

**Forest Hale, District Five, 17**

When the sky begins to fall, I wonder whether I've finally lost it.

I even noticed the clouds getting lower while we talked, but I figured I was just imagining it. I mean, what, were they going to crush us? They were _clouds_. It was ridiculous.

But then the other three seem to notice. Miriam gulps. Lithe scratches her head. Suede groans and closes his eyes. We seem to have extended our temporary truce. Lithe has stepped close enough to kill us, but she stands side-by-side with me, watching the clouds sink.

When they reach the level of the treetops, I start to get nervous. This is actually happening. And I really, really don't like it. The Gamemakers have only given me a few hours to stargaze. Now this. I can't shake the irrational feeling that the sky is just _gone. _Like this is the real one, and not some crazy Gamemaker trick. The world is really ending, and I'll never see the stars again.

I narrow my eyes when I see something moving. Like black cloth flapping through the dark grey, visible for a split second, gone before I can be sure it was ever there.

Something taps my hand, and I look down to see Miriam right in front of me. Her eyes are widened expressively. I glance over at Lithe, who's still staring at the clouds, spellbound. Suede is behind Miriam. He's on his feet, but he looks like he might pass out any time.

I nod and follow Miriam. We stroll off into the carnival as unobtrusively as we can, heading away from the Cornucopia and the direction Lithe came from. The clouds keep coming down. I'm pretty sure I could touch them if I wanted to.

Suede, of course, tries. He reaches up curiously and pokes at the chaotic grey a few feet above our heads. The edge is far more definite than a cloud really ought to be, although there still isn't an exact border. It's like the surface of the ocean in a storm, drawing back and swelling toward us.

Suede yelps and pulls his hand back. It's scratched and bloody, like a bunch of songbirds attacked him. I roll my eyes. Only he would think sticking his hand into a mysterious black cloud of doom, death, destruction and terror was a good idea.

"What… the actual… FUCK?"

Lithe's shriek barely catches my attention, because I've detected another sound over the storm's keening. A low rumbling. I feel it more than I hear it, and something tells me that whatever happens next is going to be bad.

I peek out from behind a game booth hesitantly, gripping my knife. Miriam darts around me to get a look. Her eyes widen.

"Oh, fuck," she says in a small voice. I nod in wordless assent.

All I can see of Lithe is her hand. Which would be a good thing, except that the massive crack that has suddenly appeared in the ground is growing. It's coming from the direction of the Cornucopia. Farther away, it's at least twenty yards wide and counting. My jaw drops. For perhaps the first time in my life, I'm utterly dumbfounded.

The chasm snakes closer, tiny cracks winding toward us. The ground splits directly under one of my shoes. I can't see it, but I can feel the pressure of the two pieces sliding apart.

A huge chunk of dirt tumbles splits from the wall and tumbles in, taking Lithe with it. I honestly doubt I'd be able to hear a cannon fire if she was dead.

The dirt begins to crumble beneath me. Gulping, I realize that the split is growing underground faster than it is on the surface. The abyss has already opened beneath us; we just haven't fallen in yet.

Miriam squeaks and takes off away from the Cornucopia.

"No," I say quietly. "This way." I grab her arm and pull her away from where the ground is crumbling, perpendicular to the split.

"Suede!" she says.

There's a painful, rending _crack_ as the game booth we were hiding behind is torn to shreds. Suede tumbles out from behind it, grimacing. I pull Miriam backwards as he claws his way toward us, the dirt around him pouring backwards and rapidly turning to mud. Lightning flashes, but I still can't see the bottom of the pit.

The ground stops moving. Despite the howling wind, it seems quiet suddenly. But the clouds are close. In the few seconds I've stopped paying attention, they've fallen within an inch of my head. I duck just in time to avoid making contact.

Miriam scrabbles toward Suede, sending mud avalanching into the pit. He's clinging to two jagged rocks sticking from the mud, but his arms are shaking. If he lets go, he's going in.

I shove Miriam backwards and start toward him. The mud's as bad as in the swamp, and getting a good foothold is impossible. Suede can't be more than a few feet below us, but I honestly don't know how I'm going to get him out. I'm not that much bigger than he is, and it's all I can do not to fall in myself.

Miriam yelps and throws herself to the ground as the clouds swipe at her. There's a scratch across her face, but she's fine. For now. The clouds haven't stopped coming down, and she can only evade them for so long.

Finally, I find a solid foothold, level with Suede's shoulder. The rock is sharp enough that it will probably kill me if I lose my grip, but it will do.

The clouds seem to be falling faster. Miriam shimmies to the edge of the pit on her stomach, the storm whipping at her hair. She winces as a curl of black rakes across her face.

I grab Suede's wrist just when he seems to lose his grip. The dirt beneath him has fallen into the pit. We aren't so much clinging to a slope as we are hanging over the edge of a cliff now, and I can't see any more rocks sticking out below us. We either climb out or fall in. And it's looking more and more like falling is the only option.

Miriam can't get any farther from the clouds. She's sobbing now, blood dripping over her arms as whatever's in the storm tears at her.

"Come on!" I yell. I'm not sure she can hear me. "Miriam!"

Her eyes open wide, and she leans over the edge, staring past me into the blackness.

"We're supposed to jump! We'll be fine!" I say, wondering when the role of the person who comforts everyone else fell to me. It's not really my style.

Miriam shakes her head quickly, drawing back from the edge. She's barely within my reach now. The blackness has almost covered her completely, and the bit of her skin that I can still see shines with blood.

Without much thought, I let go of Suede. I know he'll be fine. The Gamemakers wouldn't send everyone over a cliff if we were going to die of it. Admittedly Suede probably isn't thrilled with me right about now, but I can deal with that later.

"Miriam, come _on!_ You'll be fine!" I scream, lunging for her hand. She pulls it away. I grit my teeth, curse, and pull myself halfway out of the pit. The clouds are inches from the ground, and I can't avoid them. It feels like being in a sandstorm. Instantly, a million tiny cuts are opened on my arms and shoulders. I keep my head down, quite sure that I don't want that happening to my eyes.

"Miriam!" I scream like a lunatic. She isn't even looking at me anymore. Her arms are crossed over her head, and she's trembling like she'll never stop.

I grab her arm and try to drag her toward the chasm. Her eyes snap open, and she fights me wildly, thrashing and kicking. As the clouds get lower, I feel the cuts get deeper, like it's knives instead of sand. I gasp at a deep slash across the back of my neck.

I'm too late. She's gone completely insane. I can't save her without dying, and it wouldn't help her even if I did.

I scramble backwards and throw myself over the edge.

**Don't blame me; it was Tibbi's idea.**


	25. Paper Tiger

**Oh yes, Foaly's old friends are back. I know at least one of you knows what I'm talking about. Heheheh.**

_So long as governments set the example of killing their enemies, private citizens will occasionally kill theirs. _ ~Elbert Hubbard

**Jaeger Cline, District 9, 16**

I've slept with my knives in my hands every night. I'd be an idiot not to. The Gamemakers are tricky, but I honestly can't imagine a situation that couldn't be resolved with the judicious use of two very long, sharp knives or the fine art of running like hell. So when I wake up to find the ground crumbling underneath me far too quickly for me to run away, I spend a good few seconds feeling righteously indignant before something approaching panic sets in.

Dammit. Falling. Dark. Dead. Fuckfuckfuck.

They can't kill me like this. They wouldn't. Would they? How is this entertaining? This isn't fair. There has to be a way out of this.

I find myself plummeting into an abyss, the dark walls climbing above me. I feel like I've been swallowed. I should be able to see the sky above me, but I can't, just blackness. Has something covered the chasm, or did the sky turn pure black?

I kick off of a huge chunk of dirt and rock next to me so that I'm falling feet-first, choking back panic. Falling's a funny thing. For a few seconds, you honestly think you're going to be fine. You could hit the ground at this speed and survive with maybe a few broken bones, no problem. Just like falling out of a tree or something. But the thing is, the longer you fall, the faster you do it. Within a few seconds, I know I have no chance of survival. Even the Gamemakers couldn't create a bottomless pit.

I wish I could see the bottom. Or maybe I don't. What's down there? Water? Rocks? Really sharp rocks? Maybe I'm better off not knowing.

And suddenly I'm not falling anymore. I'm sprawled across what feels like smooth rocks the size of my hand, dazed. And I'm underwater.

The fact that I can't breathe overrides my mental objections to the situation. Isn't water supposed to kill you if you fall from high enough? The Gamemakers must have done something. They slowed me down somehow. I still feel like I've been mauled by a pack of wild dogs, but I'm alive.

I still have one of my knives. As I shift, my neck brushes the hilt of the other one. It buried itself to the handle between a few rocks, an inch from my neck. I gulp, grab it, and push off the bottom, searching for the surface.

And it isn't there.

The panic comes back, bit by bit. I'm not a strong swimmer. Not really. And I can't see anything, except for a tiny orange glow above me that definitely wasn't there when I was falling.

There's a current. A fast one. And the water's getting warmer. I welcome it at first. It was freezing a few seconds ago, which wasn't helping with that whole not-drowning thing. But the fact that it went from freezing cold to as warm as a pond in July in just a few seconds is disconcerting.

The water gets hotter, uncomfortably so. And I need to breath, now. The orange glow seems closer. I claw my way toward it, and my hand brushes rock. The edge of the stream. I keep going, half-swimming, half-climbing, trying to ignore the fact that I'm simultaneously drowning and being boiled alive.

Now I can see the surface, rippling like a rough orange gem. It's beautiful, in a sinister way. There won't be anything good up there.

My hand breaks the surface. I drag myself out, flopping onto the rocky shore on my face and gasping for breath. Anything could kill me easily right now, but I honestly don't care.

After a few seconds, I get my breath back and assess the situation. I still can't see much of anything. The orange glow is coming from a horizontal crack in the wall of the abyss, just above the surface of the water. Molten rock oozes from it, hissing as it slides into the water. The light it provides is minimal. I back up instinctively, relaxing slightly when my back hits the rock of the wall on my side. I don't like things sneaking up on me. That's my job.

And there will be things trying. I have no doubt about that. Maybe tributes, maybe not. But I didn't come this far to get killed now. If something wants to kill me, it had better be ready for a fight.

**Sol Ignis, District 1, 16**

Namitha is already cursing like a sailor as I pull her out of the water after me. We collapse on the shore, exhausted.

"You okay?" she says. I can't see her, but I can hear her spitting water bad-temperedly.

"Yeah, but I had to let go of the halberd. You still got that knife?"

"Yup. Here, you better take it. Wherever you are." Her hand bumps my arm, finds my hand, and presses the hilt into it.

"Any idea how many are left? I haven't been keeping track."

There's a moment's pause while she thinks about it. "There's us. Lithe and Suede are out there somewhere. The Nine boy, and the Fives, I think."

Seven tributes. I sigh. It's getting harder and harder to deny that awful truth that every allied tribute has to face: only one person can win the Hunger Games. And I'm honestly not sure I want it to be me anymore.

I freeze at a sound farther down the bank. I feel Namitha's arm tense against mine, and I know she heard it too. A tiny click, like one rock falling against another. But I can't see a damn thing.

I creep around Namitha, putting myself between her and whatever's down there. I'm trying to be silent, but I've never been good at that. Not that it really matters. Anything down here knows exactly where we are.

Namitha seems to realize the same thing. She tugs on my arm silently, and I let her guide me a few steps backwards, keeping the knife raised. I listen as hard as I can for another sound, but I don't hear anything.

Skin brushes my arm, and I don't think anything of it, assuming that it's Namitha. Until I hear her choked gasp behind me. She falls against me, and a cannon fires.

I drop the knife and catch her instinctively. She can't be dead. She was going to win. It was someone else's cannon. I put my fingers to her neck. Nothing.

It doesn't occur to me to wonder what killed her until it's too late.

"I'm not the only predictable one," Lithe's sing-song voice rings out.

I have no clue what the hell she's talking about, but I swing my fist in the direction her voice came from.

"Ooh, felt the breeze on that one."

I yelp at a slash of pain across my chest. Her sword. I lunge furiously, and trip over Namitha's body. I find Lithe's swordpoint between my shoulder blades when I try to get up.

"Remember the Three girl, Sol?" Lithe says quietly. "And the Four girl? And the Six boy too, probably, if you'd had your way?"

I assume it's a rhetorical question. Wrong, apparently. Lithe's sword digs into my back.

"Yes," I reply, putting as much venom as I'm capable of into the word.

"They were my kills."

"They weren't anybody's kills. This whole thing is fucking ridiculous."

"Ooh, so you're a rebel now? You know that's not a good idea. The Gamemakers won't like that at all." She twirls the sword casually, and I grit my teeth, using every bit of willpower I have not to let her get a sound out of me.

There's got to be a way out of this. She can't see me. But she's clearly sneakier than I am, and I can't quite seem to think straight, anyway. I was never cut out for this. I knew it all along, but I didn't admit it to myself. Something like this was going to happen. Even if I somehow won, I'd never be the same again and I know it.

But that doesn't mean I don't have anything to fight for. My little sister. And the fact that I really, _really_ hate Lithe right about now.

I twist to my side and scramble to my feet, hissing as her blade slashes down my spine. And I realize my mistake. My back is to the stream. And there's something in it that wasn't there before. It's quiet, but I can hear an ominous splashing noise behind me.

I know Lithe hears it too when she gives a crazy little giggle and rams her shoulder into my chest. For a split second, I'm falling, then my back hits the water and teeth sink into my skin. Bony, slimy hands pull me down. I sense them swarming around me, like they can smell my blood.

I snap. I scream desperately, instantly choked by the water. I'd rather drown than let these things tear me apart, anyway.

At least, I think dully, she didn't decide to kill me first and shove Namitha in the water. At least she's not here anymore. And maybe I'm getting the easy way out, too. The Games, I think, have just begun.


	26. Blood Turns Cold

_Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company._ ~Mark Twain

**Suede Poriskova, District 8, 15**

Forest just threw me off a cliff.

Seriously, who _does_ that?

Lucky for me, there's water at the bottom. Well, not lucky, exactly, 'cause it's not like the Gamemakers would've flung me onto concrete for no good reason. Although I guess you never quite know with them. Would that count as entertainment? Watching me get splattered across some rocks? Probably in the Capitol. Why would I even ask?

My feet touch the rocky bottom of the clear stream. Right about then, I remember that I can't actually swim. Well, shit.

I run in slow-motion in what I hope is the direction of a wall, although of course I can't see anything but darkness, and maybe something orange ominously high above me. The water pressure hurts like hell in my ears, and the water itself is numbingly cold.

I finally find the wall. It's not exactly smooth, but it's not as uneven as I had hoped, either. It's more like someone took a hammer to a really big rock, breaking it in bumps and ridges. It's not something I could usually climb. One nice thing about water, though. Being under it makes that whole climbing thing a bunch easier.

I pull myself upwards, favoring my left arm, since the clown seemed to have a particular problem with that shoulder. I really would be a fan of breathing right about now. Too bad. Busy climbing for my life. Underwater. New one on me.

Did something just…?

Nah. There wouldn't be anything in here. They have to give me a chance, at least.

The wall starts to slope toward the center of the stream, over my head. A few dismayed bubbles escape my mouth as I curse. But it's okay. I can do this. I can still find a bit of a grip, and—

Okay, that time I definitely saw something. Something pale. Aside from that, I have no clue what it was, but something tells me it's bad news.

Finally, my hand finds air and a grip on the bank. I freeze at a small clacking sound. With the overhang in my way, I have no way of knowing whether the whole damned Career pack is standing up there, but whatever. I grab the rock overhang with my other hand and start to drag myself out of the water, spluttering and shaking my hair out of my face. The water burns in the cuts on my back and legs.

Wait, my legs? When did I hurt my legs?

I glance over my shoulder.

Uh-oh.

**Forest Hale, District 5, 16**

So. I have no weapons, no allies, and not much in the way of motivation. Knowing the meaning of life before dying? Yeah, great. Dog eat dog. Claw your way as high up the heap as you can before dropping dead or being killed. Take over the whole goddamned world, and you're still just a tooth on a gear if the clock of the universe, king of a chunk of rock hurtling through empty space. Good for you. Guess you win.

Fuck it all.

For a moment, I'm tempted to throw something, but I repress it. It's not my style. I don't know what to do, but that's not it.

Start walking. Sure. Great. Why not? The Gamemakers will take care of me eventually. I'll lose—the whole game, not just theirs—but honestly, I don't think I want to play anymore. I can't win. I always wondered why no one else ever chased the same goal as me. Did they know there was no prize all along? I've always looked down on everyone else for not even trying to see the big picture, but maybe I'm the oblivious one, chasing for answers where everyone else could see there were none.

A hand shoots from the water, seizing the rock of the bank. I jump back reflexively before I can stop myself. A rock clicks against another.

Before I can decide whether to run, wait, or swan dive into the stream, Suede's moppy hair appears above the bank. Right. I forgot about him.

Suede yelps, tightening his grip like something's pulling him the other way. Which is a definite possibility, I muse, the Hunger Games being what they are. Tributes aren't the only hungry things in the arena. How very poetic. Not nearly as poetic as dropping the Gamemakers in here, of course, but still.

I hear a splash and a scream, but it's reasonably far away. Suede isn't the only tribute in the water. Definitely mutts, then. About time. The clowns were getting old.

Suede yells. Every bit of humor and cockiness is gone from his voice. I'm surprised to find that it actually makes me sad. It was oddly comforting, knowing there were people like him in the world. I was lonely, but at least some people were happy. Some people just never needed a reason. Or maybe they knew it all along.

I sigh and grab his wrist. He's an irritating, obnoxious moron, but he doesn't deserve this.

No, definitely not. I study the mutts curiously as I pull Suede's wrists with all my strength, his hands gripping my own wrists. The mutts sort of look like people. Maybe the mutt builders started with people, at least. But then they made them pale white and sort of slimy-looking, bony and sinewy, with overlong fingers and toes. Their faces are like eyeless skulls. I wonder whether they can see. Some of them have thin tufts of hair floating around their faces. All of them have teeth. Lots of teeth. Very long, very sharp teeth, more like needles than anything else.

One of them is exactly Miriam's size, and its hair is brown, like hers. My heart drops and I stare at it dumbly. That was fast. She only died a few minutes ago. Are they just that good, or did they know she would be the next to die? Or maybe they took DNA from all of us and created these things before the Games even started. Maybe there's a mutt-me in a cage beneath the arena somewhere.

I hear rocks clicking together somewhere off to my right, but of course the orange glow from the molten rock only illuminates a few random stretches of the bank. I don't really care what it is, anyway. I'll save Suede, I guess, if I can, and after that…

Dying has to bring an epiphany, doesn't it? If I see it coming? Of course I'll know what life is if I can make a direct comparison.

Saving Suede turns out to be a bit more complicated that I had expected. I'm outnumbered, and gravity is against me. At least three of the mutts have their bony fingers wrapped around Suede's ankles. I realize all at once that I'm not strong enough. But I have to try. Aside from the two of us, there's only the Two girl and the Nine boy. I haven't seen him since the Games began, but I remember he was a hunter. Almost certainly a killer. So is the girl. Suede is the only one left who can be allowed to win.

The rocks click again, and I close my eyes as a blade slashes down my back casually.

"Ooh, that doesn't look too good."

**Lithe Charm, District 2, 18**

I love these mutts. I really do. I note with jealousy that one of them has the Six boy's flaming red hair. I wish I had died before now so I could be one too. It's just the right form for lurking. I do love lurking.

The brown-haired boy doesn't even look up. "Help," he hisses.

I blink. Help? Me? Really? I'm not offended or anything, just thrown off. It's a novel concept. Help someone save someone else's life? Maybe be responsible for returning some son to his parents and brother to his siblings? Reunite a family?

Eh… nah.

I step on the boy's wrist instead. It breaks with a sickening crack. Both of them cry out in dismay as the boy on the bank finds himself with all of the other's weight in one hand, and no traction to make up for it. He slides forward on his knees and throws himself onto his stomach to stop himself from falling in. His shoulder is right at the edge, and his wrist is underwater.

I glance over the edge. "Ooh, look. He's drowning."

Sure enough, the mutts seem to have no interest in ripping the boy apart like they did Sol, although there's definitely blood in the water. A few of them keep their grip on his ankles, preventing the first one from pulling him out, but most just circle him slowly.

Now the boy on the bank looks up at me. "Please help."

"I just broke your wrist," I pointed out. "I'm not a helpful person."

"Neither am I," he gasps, trying to wriggle backwards but losing a few inches instead.

"Even if I did, I'd just kill you both."

"Fine. Help."

I bite my lip, looking over the edge again. The boy in the water is thrashing desperately, kicking against the mutts' grip. The one on the bank curses as he's dragged forward even more. One of the mutts brushes its fingers against his wrist, and he flinches.

"Mm, I don't think so. This is more fun," I say with a grin, tapping his shoulder delicately with my sword. "But you keep trying, sweetheart."

I twirl the sword point against the ground, staring at some lava oozing from the wall slightly downstream, the water writhing and hissing where they meet. It's mesmerizing, the way the molten light reflects off the surface of the water and refracts beneath it. It makes the mutts look like they crawled up here from the core of the earth.

A cannon fires. The boy on the bank slowly stands up straight, eyes glowing. And before I can even raise my sword, he throws me into the water.

**Sorry for the increasingly drawn-out deaths. Well, one of them, at least. Yes, Lithe is dead. Final two: Forest vs. Jaeger. Bets? Thoughts?**


	27. Chasing All Those Stars

_You can be a king or a street sweeper, but everybody dances with the Grim Reaper. _~Robert Alton Harris

_Death is the last enemy: once we've got past that I think everything will be alright._ ~Alice Thomas Ellis

**Jaeger Cline, District 9, 16**

I hear splashing and shrieking from upstream, and there's only one person it could be. The Two girl. It's nice to have her out of the way, I suppose, but still. What a way to go.

I throw another wary glance at the creatures in the water. They haven't moved. They're just staring at me.

My sympathy for the girl wanes slightly as the shrieks morph into crazed laughter. A moment later, a decapitated mutt bobs past me. Its head shows up a moment later. The look on its face is one of almost comical dismay.

I heft my knives and keep my eye on the path in the direction of the Two girl. She may be out of the picture, but whoever took her out of it isn't. There's a lava flow across the wall maybe fifty yards down from me, so whoever it is will have a tough time sneaking up on me. Behind me, of course, is pitch dark. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder. I won't be able to see anything. I'm better off just keeping my hearing stretched to its absolute limit, and my peripheral vision on the mutts, who I'm quite sure are slowly swimming closer.

I hear someone coming toward me. Just one. A shadowy figure appears a moment later, slinking down the narrow path. It's a boy, at least fifteen, but that's all I can tell. Too small for the One kid. His gait is strangely defeated for someone who's made it this far. I've been doing my best to keep track, and I'm reasonably sure we're the final two.

I'm going to kill him. It's not really something I have to think about. Yes, it will be my first kill since that day at the Cornucopia, but that's okay. I've worked around squeamishness worse than this before. He's a dead man walking. And he doesn't even know I'm here. He's going to trip right over me.

He steps farther into the light, and I recognize him as the Five boy. Weird kid. Always seemed a little sad. He struck me as a kindred spirit even before the Games began, in some weird way, except depressed instead of grumpy.

When he calls my name, it takes me a moment to even register it. I haven't heard it in a while.

"Jaeger," he says flatly. "That's you, right? Where are you?"

I don't reply. Why would I? I search for a glint of weaponry around him, but I don't see anything.

"They want a fight," he continues. "They won't let you sneak up on me. You might as well show yourself on your terms."

He's got a point, actually. And I'm seriously considering replying when the path behind me suddenly collapses into the water. Rock and lava hit the stream with a sound like a barrage of cannons. Steam blasts toward me. I lunge away from it, leaving the wall in the process, and realize the light is silhouetting me now. He knows exactly where I am.

The boy vanishes from the patch of light. I grip my knives more tightly and flatten myself against the wall, cursing the glowing molten rock behind me.

"What's your name, again?" I call. I don't exactly care, but I'd feel much better if I knew where he was. Unarmed or not, I'm pretty sure he just took out a Career. I know better than to underestimate any opponent. Not when I'm this close.

I wonder again, almost idly, whether anyone back in District Nine actually cares. Most of them probably want me to die. More game for them. Except, no, the District gets food for a year if I win. So my District will be behind me, one way or the other. But they're rooting for the District Nine tribute, not me, personally. Does _anyone_ actually want me back?

There's a hearty sigh from the blackness ahead of me. "Forest Hale, if you really think it matters."

"How should I know if it matters?"

To my amazement, he laughs. It's dry, but it's the first laughter I've heard in a while. "That's fair. So how many people have you killed?"

"Four. You?"

"Just bloodied my hands a second ago." His footsteps are quiet, but I can hear him coming closer. I don't expect him to say anything else. I don't think he intended to, but he speaks a moment later, his voice quiet but urgent. "Behind you."

My mind races. He's still at least thirty feet away, and I really don't see how he could kill me with what I assume would be just bare hands. But there's no reason he should be warning me of anything, either. Eventually—or more likely a split second later—my curiosity gets the better of me and I shoot a glance over my shoulder. And stab the mutt through the heart. It freezes, but doesn't fall quite yet. Empty black eye sockets turn hard, and something pale green oozes from its chest.

"Oh," I say weakly. So they can come out of the water. Great.

A quick scan reveals that only one has accomplished that particular feat, but the rest are looking unsettlingly adventurous. Blank eye sockets stare at me from the edge of the water. I have the awful feeling that they might just be able to reach me in one motion if they lunge quickly enough.

The one I killed topples into the water and floats away. The rest don't even look at it, keeping their gaze on me. I find myself drawing back even though my shoulders are already pressed against the wall. I really don't like this.

"So what are you fighting for?"

I look up in surprise. Forest is lounging against the wall, just out of knife range, his eyes on the mutts. Nonetheless, I know he'll dodge if I try to kill him now. Not that it matters, because something's stopping me. He's trying to tell me something. The problem is that he doesn't seem to know exactly what.

"My District, I guess."

He shakes his head. "Me, too. You have a family?"

"Yes."

He looks up. He even looks like me, with dark brown hair and eyes and sharp features, except he's pale. "Do they miss you?"

I bite my lip and consider the question. "They might." Before I'm quite sure what's happening, I find myself adding, "You?"

Why did I ask that? I don't care, and I don't want to know. For all I know, there's a whole flock of miniature Hales with all kinds of debilitating diseases starving to death in a shack somewhere and begging their big brother to come home. And it's none of my concern, or at least it shouldn't be.

"I've got parents." He thinks for a moment. "But you killed four people."

"Yeah."

One of the mutts reaches out slowly, laying its pale, bony fingers on the rock. Its thin lips draw back, and I suck in a breath at the sight of its teeth.

"Because you wanted to win?"

"I guess."

The mutt's other hand grips the bank. A few more reach out. I look at Forest out of the corner of my eye, pinpointing where he's standing and calculating how to attack. We're almost exactly the same size. I'm armed, he's not. I'm probably a better fighter. But I'm intimidated nonetheless. I thought I was ruthless, but something tells me I'm going in the water if I don't give him the right answers. And maybe even if I do.

Just as I'm tensed to spring, he looks up and smiles. "Going to kill me, too?"

"Yes."

His eyes harden. He looks up, for reasons best known to himself. I risk a quick glance to see what he's so interested in. There's still only darkness above us. For a moment I think I see a glint of light, but then it's gone.

Forest looks back at me. "Not quite yet."

I take another step forward instead of even dignifying that one with an answer.

"What's your token?"

I stop short. "Huh?"

"Your token. What is it?"

I know the Capitol will be getting impatient, but the fact that he's unarmed makes me feel like I've gone back on my promise and turned into an executioner again. I can't exactly deny him his last request.

"I don't have one. I didn't see what purpose it would serve."

He sighs again and leans against the wall, not even looking at me. "One more question. What do you think happens when we die?"

The hell?

"I've… I've never thought about it, I guess," I say slowly. "It's not like I won't find out eventually. I've always had more immediate things to worry–"

I'm cut off by a bony arm wrapping around my neck. I stab the mutt behind me reflexively. It lets me go, but another lunges, and one of my knives clatters to the ground. I slit its throat. But more of them are crawling up the uneven slope left by the rockfall. Some of the ones in the stream are trying to haul themselves out, but they're having a hard time, particularly because Forest is stomping on their fingers.

I concentrate on defending my end of the path and stopping the ones climbing the slope. As I watch, one of them gets too close to the lava. Its skin blisters, and the air is filled with the worst smell I've ever experienced. The thing's shrieking doesn't help.

I can hear Forest muttering some of the most poetic curses I think I've ever heard. I know I should just turn on him and kill him while he's distracted, but the mutts are too fast. They'd grab me before I could get him. And there are a lot of them. They're stronger than they look, too.

One of them slashes at my face. I learn the hard way that they have claws. I duck another swipe and ram my knife into its skinny ribs, shoving my shoulder against a second mutt and sending it into the water. Yet another throws its weight onto my back before I can straighten up, knocking me to my knees. I stab it over my shoulder and teeth sink into my wrist.

No matter how hard I fight it, I can feel myself starting to panic. At least I think it's panic. I've never experienced it before. I really don't want to die like this. Dying is fine, but I don't want to be killed.

I grit my teeth and fight harder. I don't even risk a glance to see how Forest is doing. It's all I can do not to get my head ripped off. They've backed me off the top of the narrow slope, and now they're coming at me four at a time. I really wish I still had two knives.

One gets both hands around my knife wrist and pulls me off balance. Another gets behind me and wraps an arm around my chest. I barely twist to the side in time to stop it from ripping my throat out. When I try to stab it, I realize my knife arm is pinned.

I thrash in the mutt's grip and end up tumbling to the ground on my back, right in the middle of them. My knife is torn from my hand, and my head hits the rock hard enough to make me see stars. Or maybe they really are stars. Have the clouds finally cleared? I think they have. But the mutts' faces blot out the sky a moment later. And those goddamned _teeth…_

"Sorry, Chell," I mutter. "Love you."

I'm about to close my eyes when I see Forest crouched behind them, his face shadowed. He stands up straight and looks up at the stars. There's a fearless, almost curious expression on his face.

"I get it now," he says triumphantly.

Then he takes my knife from the ground and stabs himself in the heart.

**Chell Cline, District 9, 5 years old**

They told me Jaeger wasn't coming back. I said he was. They shook their heads and patted mine and said it was good I didn't quite understand.

But I _do._ I wasn't supposed to watch the Games, but I _did_. I didn't want to see him die, I wanted to see him live, and he _did._

And he said he loved me. He's never said that before.

And now he's coming home.

* * *

><p>They give us plenty of space at the train station. There's a big crowd, but it isn't allowed near us. We get to stand with a bunch of Peacekeepers and people with cameras until the train comes in.<p>

My mom ruffles my hair absentmindedly without taking her eyes off the clock. Dad keeps saying it's a Capitol train; it won't be early and it won't be late. So I watch, too. And then it's time. The train pulls in and the door opens.

Jaeger stands in the doorway. He looks a little unsure of himself, like when Dad tells him he did something wrong, but brave, too. His eyes sweep over the people surrounding us, then narrow. Somehow I know he's wishing for a bow.

But then the Peacekeepers shove the people with cameras out of the way, and Jaeger's eyes fall on us. He looks even more uncertain now. But I skip toward him anyway. He might ignore me like he usually does, but he can't stop me from hugging him.

He doesn't ignore me. He picks me up and hugs me back.

"Hey, Chell," he says in my ear. "How've you been, kid?"

**D'awww.**

**Okay, sorry for the fluff, but I figured we were collectively entitled after that little journey. Thank you guys so much for giving me such awesome characters. I had so much fun doing Forest's philosophizing, and Lithe was just buckets of fun. Picking the winner was ridiculously hard, but I wanted to mix things up a little and have it be someone who might actually be better off than he was before, rather than scarred for life. Happy endings are so hard to come by in this fandom, you know?**

**If you have any suggestions for my Guide to Not Making Your Tribute Suck, please let me know. I want to update, but I don't really have enough material.**

**A sequel, you ask? Maybe. Possibly. Probably not until I finish my PJO fic, but keep an eye out.**

**Thanks again for putting up with me! :)**


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